


i will catch you (as you have caught me before)

by Fandom_Trash224



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bruce Wayne is an okay parent, Canon-Typical Violence, Coffee, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Illegal Activities, Kidnapping, Major Original Character(s), Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, More characters to be added, No Romance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Outsider, Rescue Missions, Sick Character, Snark, The Batfam has issues, Trust, Vomiting, and in comics i can do what i please, bc im not a doctor or nurse, civilians doing things that civilians shouldn't be doing, heroes have no self-preservation skills, im surprised i never tagged that before, in a sense i guess, local nurse tired of it, medical talk, well one civilian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24293509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandom_Trash224/pseuds/Fandom_Trash224
Summary: This is how it starts for Shafeeq Jasín: He’s standing in line at Jeff and Jess’ Hot Dog Shop, just about to order a veggie dog with sweet relish, when there’s suddenly an explosion down the street.Then, like clockwork, Shafeeq seeshim.(a story about a nurse, a vigilante, and how they bond over saving one another)
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Original Male Character(s), Dick Grayson & Shafeeq Jasín
Comments: 51
Kudos: 156
Collections: Gotham Square (Batfam Discord Fics)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! i made an oc and he got wildly out of hand! sElkieNight60's batfam 18+ discord server enabled me and now this fic is a thing! i hope y'all enjoy, and lmk if i missed any tags

This is how it starts for Shafeeq Jasín: He’s standing in line at Jeff and Jess’ Hot Dog Shop, just about to order a veggie dog with sweet relish, when there’s suddenly an explosion down the street.

It rocks the ground and he loses his footing, barely able to catch himself before he can faceplant completely. When he had first moved to Blüdhaven, he had been  _ terrified _ anytime there was a clattering in the alleyway outside his apartment, but now, all he can think is how  _ long _ of a day it’s going to be at his job tomorrow.

He almost thinks it’s funny, the fact that he’s only twenty-three and he pretty much doesn’t fear death anymore, but what’s  _ not _ funny is the fact that he’s going to probably be late for work because of this bullshit. This bullshit, of course, being the group of costumed criminals running and whooping through the streets as a van barrels towards them, most likely to pick them up.

Then, like clockwork, Shafeeq sees  _ him _ .

He comes from almost out of  _ nowhere _ , just like always, dramatically flipping in a flash of blue and black that instantly puts anyone who’s seen it before at ease. It’s  _ him _ . It’s  _ Nightwing _ .

Shafeeq can see the way the entire shop lights up, children and teens pressing against the windows to try and get a better view of the fairly new vigilante, various people taking out their phones for pictures and videos, and he even sees one let out a loud whoop before proudly exclaiming into their phone that they just won their Hero-Bingo for that month. Good for them.

Even Shafeeq himself finds himself drawn to the window, though he ends up having to watch through the glass door with all the crowding. He’s seen it before, anybody who’s been in Blüdhaven for more than a month probably has, but it never fails to take his breath away. Nightwing’s motions are fluid, easily dodging and blocking hits with a sort of grace that dancers  _ wish _ they could achieve, and when he electrifies his sticks (drawing out an excited round of yelling from the crowd), Shafeeq can’t help but feel a rush of excitement. It always meant things were about to get  _ good _ .

The shop watches, entranced with the fight as the criminals go down one-by-one, shouting with excitement and joy each time Nightwing manages to get a  _ really _ good hit in, or when he does a  _ really cool _ flip. They also all hiss in sympathy when Nightwing gets hit by one of them, but that doesn’t happen  _ nearly _ as often.

Then, the catalyst that will forever change Shafeeq’s path begins. A single moment suspended in time, capturing the second that Nightwing is hit so  _ hard _ that the vigilante actually doubles over, backing up with his face contorted in something close to agony. Then, a gunshot, and Nightwing falls onto his back.

Shafeeq’s brain stops working for a moment, his body on autopilot as he rushes out the door as if he could do something to help, but he barely makes it halfway to the street before Nightwing manages to get back to his feet, quickly knocking out the final goons just in time for the cops to arrive. 

Shafeeq breathes a sigh of relief as an ambulance pulls up, lights and sirens blaring. He’s expecting to watch Nightwing make his way over to it with a grin and cheesy joke, but when Shafeeq looks at the vigilante again, he watches Nightwing wince as he places his sticks back into their holders before his hand flies to his shoulder. It’s probably where the bullet hit.

Shafeeq takes another step forward, but before he can even call out to Nightwing, he watches the vigilante limp off into the darkened alleyways without so much as a second glance at his injuries.

What. The.  _ Fuck _ .

Shafeeq can’t believe his eyes. Nightwing got  _ shot _ , but the guy just takes one look at the people he helped round up, not even  _ bothering _ to talk to a medical professional, and walks away. For a moment, Shafeeq hopes that he’s going to go see another doctor or something, that maybe heroes have their  _ own _ special doctors, or at least someone who can patch them up, but a sinking feeling in his stomach tells him this isn’t the case.

Shafeeq, after a moment of just standing there,  _ dumbfounded _ , Shafeeq decides that the thought of Nightwing (or any vigilante hero, really) having to patch himself up is  _ completely _ unacceptable.

But what can  _ he _ do? He works in the customer service department of an insurance company. His entire knowledge of first aid consists of “put antibiotic cream on a cut before putting a band-aid on it”, “put ice on it if it’s swelling”, and “go to a doctor if the first two things don’t work”. That doesn’t exactly cover gunshot wounds, or stitches, or broken bones.

Then, a lightbulb goes off in his brain, and Shafeeq realizes he’s about to make his parents very,  _ very _ happy.

  
  


\---

“Of course we can help pay for it,  _ meri jaan _ ,” Shafeeq’s mother says excitedly, clasping her hands together in front of her face. “We told you, whatever you need, we will do whatever we can to help.”

“We do have to ask, though,” his father chimes in, “You seemed perfectly content with figuring out a career  _ without _ college. Why the sudden urge to become a doctor?”

“I’m becoming a  _ nurse _ , dad,” Shafeeq corrects, “Nurses tend to do a lot more hands-on stuff than doctors do.”

“Okay. And  _ why _ do you want to do more hands-on stuff?”

Shafeeq feels his face heat up, and he coughs into his fist awkwardly before he asks, “Well, have uh… have you ever heard of Nightwing?”

\---

When it comes to medical schooling, Gotham University isn't exactly most people's first pick. In fact, due to the rather high number of doctors and psychiatrists that become rogues in the city, it’s the  _ opposite _ , which actually makes it one of the easier places to get into.

Gotham  _ also _ has an unusually high population of “underground” clinics, places where shady characters or desperate paranoiacs go when they’re afraid of the hospital, and while nursing school is going to teach him a  _ lot _ about keeping patients alive, he knows it’s not going to cover  _ everything _ he needs. Those places are as good as any to get the information.

Gotham is the perfect place for what Shafeeq needs, and he knows it.

Though, there’s a lot of things Shafeeq  _ doesn’t  _ know yet, and it doesn’t just pertain to nursing or medicine or what have you. He doesn’t know that, despite spending several years in two of the worst cities in America, he’s going to be one of the most empathetic and caring nurses many people have ever met. He doesn’t know that, in a world full of aliens and gods and trained weapons, he’s going to become a hero in his right, one without a cape.

Even after four years of learning, he doesn’t quite know that stuff yet, but the one thing he’s  _ always _ known is that Nightwing has saved  _ countless _ lives, and now it’s Shafeeq’s turn to return the favor.

\---

Shafeeq’s only been back in Blüdhaven for a week, but he’s already remembering why he considered staying behind in Gotham.

As one of the masked men points the gun directly at his face, he’s not even phased by it, opting to instead just arch an eyebrow at the guy.  _ Apparently _ , the man doesn’t find it funny or badass, because he pulls up the butt of his gun, and Shafeeq’s ready to have to explain to his parents why he’s in the hospital as a  _ patient _ and not an  _ employee _ \--

And then,  _ he _ arrives in a blur of black and blue.  _ Nightwing _ .

Even after nearly four years of nursing school in Gotham, which has a  _ way _ more significant vigilante population than Blüdhaven, seeing the guy who started Shafeeq on this journey inspires a sort of  _ awe _ in the deepest pits of his soul, one that’s intensified by how  _ close _ he is to the action itself. 

He’s so close, he can  _ actually hear _ the witty quips and one-liners Nightwing makes, and the awe quickly dissipates into the sudden realization that Nightwing is, in short, a  _ dork _ . A badass dork who likes to make an ungodly amount of puns.

He’s not sure if that’s the best thing he’s ever heard in his life, or… Okay, yeah, no, it’s one of the best things he’s ever heard in his life.

What’s  _ not _ fun to hear is the sound of Nightwing swearing shortly after one of the goons manages to get a shot off on the vigilante. Shafeeq’s almost instantly on his feet, and, remembering what he learned from his Gotham Brand self-defense classes, manages to knock down one of the few remaining gunmen, with his hands behind his back no less. Hah! Take that,  _ John the bully from fourth grade _ . 

Of course, this distracts the other gunmen, who point their weapons at Shafeeq. For a moment, he thinks he has  _ greatly _ miscalculated, but then Nightwing is back in the fray, and after a series of wide shots, acrobatic grace, and a couple more quips, it’s only Shafeeq, the other hostages, and Nightwing left awake in the warehouse.

“You alright?” Nightwing asks, his voice surprisingly light for someone with a  _ bullet wound _ in his shoulder. Well, maybe  _ wound _ isn’t the right word, seeing as it’s probably more of a  _ graze _ , but it’s a deep one, and Nightwing really has  _ no  _ business being so chipper about it. 

“I’m fine,” Shafeeq replies, eyes still pinned on the graze. If Nightwing notices, he doesn’t react, instead he moves behind Shafeeq, cutting him free from his rope bonds. As he rubs his raw wrists, Shafeeq continues with, “Thank you.”

“Hey, it’s no probl--  _ ah _ ,” Nightwing winces after helping cut another hostage free with something that looks a  _ lot  _ like a batarang. He hands it off to the hostage, who uses it to start cutting the rest free as Nightwing applies pressure to the wound. Still, he throws Shafeeq a smile. “It’s no problem. All part of the job, you know?”

“Getting shot at part of the job, too?” Shafeeq asks dryly, his brain-to-mouth filter  _ apparently _ deciding to take a hike. Nightwing looks mildly taken aback by his forwardness, then confused, then he just looks  _ pained _ , because he just  _ rubbed _ his wound.

“Occupational hazard,” Nightwing says, his voice strained, but still upbeat. It has Shafeeq in  _ awe _ of Nightwing’s ability to stay positive and also makes him want to tear his hair out. The hostage with the thing that was  _ definitely _ a batarang attempts to return the object to Nightwing, but the vigilante just smiles and says, “Keep it. I’ve gotta head on out, the police will be here soon. Till then, just tie these guys up and take it easy. You’re safe now.”

The other hostages seem pretty content with that course of action, but Shafeeq? This is  _ exactly _ the thing that Shafeeq spent four years studying in college and back-alley clinics in Gotham for. He hung back for several moments as Nightwing left the warehouse, unable to follow at first due to the vigilante  _ grappling up into the rafters _ despite the  _ bleeding wound _ in his shoulder, but the moment Nightwing exits, Shafeeq  _ books _ it outside. 

\---

It takes about twenty minutes of him loudly following (and almost losing) Nightwing for the vigilante to finally notice and confront him on it. 

Shafeeq allows himself to be led into a dead-end alleyway by the hero, and the moment he hears Nightwing land behind him, he turns around slowly, his arms crossed and trying his best to look unimpressed.

“Who are you?” Nightwing asks, his voice taking a more menacing tone than what Shafeeq had heard in the warehouse. For a moment, he’s worried he’s miscalculated the situation again, but he’s come too far to try and back down now.

“My name is Shafeeq Jasín. I’m a nurse that works at Rabe Memorial, and  _ you _ ,” Shafeeq points at Nightwing as he continues, “Got shot.”

Nightwing blinks in surprise. He obviously hadn’t been expecting that, and some part of Shafeeq is pleased by his surprise.

“I’m-- I got grazed. It’s fine.”

“When a bullet goes through clothes, there’s a  _ huge _ chance for infection. You can’t just slap a bandage on it and call it a day, you need to get it inspected, cleaned, sterilized, and just  _ looking _ at where it’s positioned, it’s gonna be hard to do that yourself.”

“I’ve done it before,” Nightwing says, waving a hand dismissively. “I appreciate the concern Mr. Jasín, really, but I have to get go--”

“At least let me just  _ look _ at it? And don’t call me mister. I’m pretty sure we’re basically the same age. It’s weird.”

“It’s  _ fine _ , I can handle--” Nightwing suddenly inhales sharply, hand flying to a spot on his abdomen. “ _ Ah-- _ ”

Nightwing stumbles forward slightly, and Shafeeq is instantly by his side, half-carrying the vigilante as he frantically examines Nightwing’s form for any other injuries. Through the dark material of the suit, it’s hard to notice anything wrong at first, but when Shafeeq presses his hand against a spot Nightwing’s abdomen, it not only elicits a groan of pain from the other man, but when the nurse pulls his hand back, it’s wet with blood.

“ _ Shit _ , did they get you  _ twice _ ?” Shafeeq hisses softly, making a mental note to pay his swear jar when he gets home. Nightwing shakes his head.

“Older injury,” Nightwing says, gritting his teeth. “I stitched it up a couple of nights back. Must’ve opened it back there and didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t no-- You--  _ You went out and fought crime with unhealed stitches _ ?” Nightwing only grunts and winces in response, and Shafeeq decides that it’s officially time to take matters into his own hands. “Alright, c’mon you big dumb hero. Let’s get you patched up.”

“Just--” Nightwing gasps slightly as the two try to move forward, “Just drop me off at--”

“No. I don’t  _ care _ if you have a ‘usual spot’ or if you can ‘manage fine on your own’ or whatever it is. I’m taking you back to my apartment and I’m going to dress your wounds, give you antibiotics, and force you to spend the rest of the night sleeping in my bed while I take the couch.  _ Then _ , when morning comes, I’m giving you one more look-over and sending you on your merry way, got it?”

Nightwing looks at him warily for a moment before letting out a soft, resigned sigh. “Got it.”

“Good. Now let’s go.”

\---

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Shafeeq calls out from the kitchen as he hears the door to his room slowly creak open. “I’m making eggs. You want some?”

No response. Shafeeq raises an eyebrow, taking a step back from the stove to get a better view past the breakfast bar and the attached wall into the living area. Nightwing is looking around the living area, staring down at the freshly cleaned coffee table. Shafeeq could still picture him laying on it, barely even  _ wincing _ as Shafeeq cleaned and dressed his wounds, even re-doing the stitches for the one on his stomach. 

It had been…  _ unsettling _ , and he decides to push the image out of his mind before he can lose his appetite.

“Earth to hero, come in hero,” Shafeeq calls out, this time earning a somewhat startled look from the masked man. “Did you hear me? How do you like your eggs?”

“Oh, uh,” Nightwing clears his throat slightly. “Sunny-side up?”

“Got it.”

There’s a strange silence that settles between them as Shafeeq cooks the eggs, sliding Nightwing’s onto one plate (a blue one, only fitting) and then his own on another (green, because his favorite red plate has yet to be washed). He carries the two plates out to the living room with forks, placing them on the coffee table as he sits next to Nightwing on the couch.

“How’re you feeling this morning?”

“Like I got grazed and reopened my stitches.”

“You know,” Shafeeq shoves a forkful of his scrambled eggs into his mouth, swallowing them before continuing, “If herowork ever gets old, you could be a comedian. You certainly crack enough jokes for it.”

“Meh,” Nightwing speaks with his mouth full for a moment before quickly swallowing. Shafeeq quickly realizes that he’s almost halfway done with his eggs, eating them as if he hasn’t had a proper meal in  _ years _ . It’s concerning, to say the least. “Comedians have been kinda ruined for me.”

“Because of Joker, right? Huh, I figured he’d ruin clowns for you more than comedians.”

“That man is no clown. He’s a sham. A fraud. A  _ charlatan _ who’s probably never even  _ been _ to clown college.”

Shafeeq can’t help but laugh at Nightwing’s indignant ranting. “You’ve got some pretty strong opinions on clowns, huh?”

“Hey, half of my uncles were clowns. I refuse to let someone like  _ that _ ruin their reputation.”

“Ah, so  _ that _ explains the costume and the flippy stuff. You’re a circus boy.”

Nightwing goes rigid for a moment, and Shafeeq can almost  _ see _ the gears turning in the vigilante’s brain. Had he said something wrong? Then, as if he hadn’t just locked up for a moment, Nightwing smiles broadly.

“What can I say? With clown uncles came free tickets, and watching acrobats soar through the air in brightly colored costumes always appealed to me as a kid.” 

“Just toss in a couple electrified escrima sticks, a domino mask, and a lack of self-preservation and  _ boom _ ! Instant vigilante.”

“Yeah,” Nightwing says with a slight laugh, but then his face grows serious again. As he watches Nightwing finish his eggs, Shafeeq raises an eyebrow. Nightwing glances over to see it, and says, “Sorry. I’m uh… I’m not used to this sorta thing. With a civilian, I mean.”

Shafeeq shrugs. “No big deal. I can’t imagine you spend the night at some random dude’s apartment very often, even if he did help keep you alive the night before.”

“I really, uh, I really appreciate it.”

“Really, it was nothing.”

“It’s really  _ not _ , Shafeeq,” Nightwing pauses for a moment. “It’s… It’s Shafeeq, right? That’s the name you gave me last night, and you told me not to call you mister, so--”

“Shafeeq works.”

“Right. Well, it’s really  _ something _ , Shafeeq. I mean, it’s not every day someone tries to help me, much less tries to help me without trying to take my mask off.”

“Listen, Nightwing?” Shafeeq starts, finishing off his own plate of eggs. “No offense, but I really couldn’t care less about whatever name you go by under that mask of yours. That’s your business, and honestly? I’m really just here to make sure you don’t… you know…  _ die _ , regardless of who you are.”

“Seriously?” Nightwing asks, more incredulous than anything, and Shafeeq rolls his eyes.

“ _ Seriously _ . You could be Bruce fucking Wayne for all I care, I’m still gonna drag your broken butt back to my apartment, patch you up, and feed you sunny-side up eggs on a blue plate in the morning.”

“I…,” Nightwing’s voice warbles for a moment before he clears his throat, continuing with his voice much steadier, “I appreciate it. Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” Shafeeq says with a smile, picking up the plates and putting them in his sink to deal with later. When he returns, it’s with a small container of antibiotics, which he shakes as he says, “Now, since I sincerely doubt I can keep you here for another night or two, the most I can do is tell you to take it easy for a day or so. Follow the instructions in the container for the antibiotics, and keep an eye on that graze. If you think it’s starting to get infected, come to me and I’ll take a look.”

“Sure thing,” Nightwing says, taking the container with an unconvincing smile. Shafeeq frowns.

“Nightwing,” Shafeeq begins slowly, “If that thing gets infected, and you  _ don’t _ come to me, and I find out, so  _ help _ me I will  _ drag _ my butt over to Gotham and enlist Batman’s help to find you just so I can yell at you while I deal with it. Am I clear?”

Nightwing’s face pales slightly at the mention of Batman. “Crystal.”

“Good to hear. Now, let’s get you a sling. I don’t want you using your left arm too much, since it could aggravate your graze, which, as I’m sure you know,  _ hurts _ .”

“I thought you were a nurse,” Nightwing says, and Shafeeq is  _ fairly _ sure it’s meant to be a joke. “You’re acting a  _ lot _ more like a doctor I used to go to.”

“I mean, I  _ thought _ about becoming a doctor, but the whole point of a nurse is bedside stuff. Keeping the patient comfortable and  _ alive _ while they’re being treated. It seemed more…  _ appropriate _ for what I was going for. I learned what I needed at Gotham U, and what I didn’t learn from there, I learned from the various clinics I volunteered at.”

“You sound like you put a  _ lot _ of thought into this. What made you decide on this sorta stuff?”

Shafeeq levels Nightwing with a look of “you can’t be serious”, and then, to his shock, realizes that Nightwing  _ is _ serious. He has  _ no _ idea that  _ he’s _ the biggest reason Shafeeq’s done all this.

He doesn’t realize that watching heroes like him get hurt and not ask for help is  _ unacceptable _ to Shafeeq, because he believes that, after all they’ve done, they  _ deserve _ to be helped, at least a little bit. 

Shafeeq… isn’t sure how to deal with this revelation. 

“Oh, you know,” Shafeeq says, trying to keep his voice casual as he looks through his equipment drawers for a sling, “You see enough people hurt, you end up wanting to do something about it.”

“Yeah, I know how that is,” Nightwing says, and Shafeeq can hear the smile in his voice. Something told Shafeeq that Nightwing, while he understood the  _ concept _ of what Shafeeq had said, Nightwing had missed what was being said between the lines. Okay. Whatever. That could be dealt with  _ later _ , and  _ preferably _ by an actual therapist.

Shafeeq brings the sling over to Nightwing, helping the vigilante re-dress himself and adjust the sling to be comfortable. Well. As comfortable as a sling  _ can _ be, at any rate. 

“If I see you on the street for the next two nights, I’m knocking you out myself and tying you down to a bed myself until you’re healed enough to escape and have me arrested for kidnapping.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ve heard it all before,” Nightwing says, though it’s more amused than anything. 

Shafeeq turns around, dramatically saying, “And you’ll hear it again!”

Silence. Shafeeq turns to face Nightwing, intending to tease him about his lack of response, but when he looks, Nightwing is nowhere to be seen. Shafeeq looks around, scanning the room for a moment before deciding that it’s probably better to just… not question it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check me out on tumblr!
> 
> dc: gothamhell.tumblr.com  
> main: fandom-trash224.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyoooooo, thanks to everyone who's been supporting this story so far!
> 
> i dont have much to say abt this one, except that im excited to post it and i hope y'all enjoy!

To Shafeeq’s surprise, Nightwing keeps coming back.

Granted, it’s not as often as Shafeeq would like, but he  _ does _ . The first time is for a sprained ankle. Shafeeq spends half the time teasing him for being a circus boy but allowing that to happen, the other half is spent discussing more faux-personal stuff, like their favorite colors, foods, music, etcetera. The second time, Nightwing has a concussion, and Shafeeq is mildly disappointed to find that Nightwing is gone by the time morning comes.

The third time he comes around, it’s not even for an injury. Nightwing brings him a device, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand and shaped like a flattened sphere with a single, softly glowing button in the center of it.

“It’s an emergency beacon,” Nightwing explains, “If something happens to you, just press the button, and someone’ll come to help.”

“Someone?” Shafeeq asks, a wary eyebrow raised. 

“If I’m not available for whatever reason, I’ve got friends and…  _ colleagues _ who are more than willing to lend a hand. But don’t worry, I plan to be the one coming around.”

Shafeeq keeps the device at his bedside, always keeping it in one of his pockets when he goes out. Apparently, it’s got some sort of biometric reader or something, because he’s been lucky enough to not accidentally set it off when sitting on the metro or while he’s at work. It’s a sweet gesture, one that tells Shafeeq that he’s in Nightwing’s circle of trust. He finds himself pleased at that development, but it’s not all sweet and dandy. 

After that visit, Nightwing’s only visited him when he’s been hurt, and Shafeeq soon finds himself feeling…  _ conflicted _ about the path he’s chosen.

On the one hand, he’s glad that the vigilante trusts Shafeeq enough to allow him to treat his wounds, because at least he’s going to  _ somebody _ . On the other hand, Nightwing has an  _ unfortunate _ tendency to get hurt. Most of the time, it’s nothing  _ too _ serious, nothing that Shafeeq is unprepared for, but as days turn into weeks, that soon changes.

It begins with Shafeeq coming home and seeing a crumpled figure beneath the window in his living room. It is Nightwing’s thirteenth visit, and even without a proper look at him, Shafeeq can tell it’s his worst yet.

“Nightwing! Oh my god,” Shafeeq slams the door behind him, placing his groceries on the ground and flicking on the lights. Nightwing’s barely conscious, the top part of his suit torn up in spots that reveal large claw-marks in his skin, blood oozing from them and into a puddle on the hardwood below him. “Hold on, let me get my supplies ready. Stay awake, okay?”

“‘M tr’nn,” Nightwing slurs out, very obviously trying and failing to form actual words. “‘M tired…”

“ _ Keep your eyes open, idiot _ ,” Shafeeq snaps, though he realizes he may have just said that in Urdu instead of English. Or maybe he had used Spanish? Whatever language he’s used, it’s earned a groan from Nightwing, so at the very least he understood it. Hopefully.

By the time Shafeeq’s gotten his coffee table converted into an operating table again, Nightwing looks  _ way  _ too pale to be okay, and Shafeeq is more than ready to tear him a new one. 

“You’re  _ so _ lucky,” Shafeeq starts, going through the motions of cutting off the top portion of Nightwing's costume, setting up an IV with a blood bag, and inserting the IV needle into Nightwing’s mildly less injured arm. “That they had O negative in stock yesterday.”

“Y’ g’t bl’d?” Nightwing asks, and Shafeeq huffs and he assesses the hero’s injuries. Big gashes first, then smaller ones. He can do this.

“I’ve seen the kinda stuff you heroes get into. I figured it’d be handy to have some on hand.” Nightwing mutters something again as Shafeeq quickly gears up, applying hand sanitiser (no time to go to the kitchen to wash his hands) and pulling on his gloves before tying on his mask and cap. He can’t  _ quite _ hear what Nightwing says, but he thinks he knows what the question is. “I got it from one of the clinics here in town. Told them I had a patient who refused to go to the hospital or anything like that, and I needed some equipment for him. Gave me some of the basic stuff as soon as I showed them my credentials.

“And before you ask: Yes. I could lose my nursing license for this. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Now hold still… this is gonna sting a bit.”

It actually stings a  _ lot _ , if Nightwing’s gasps and grunts and honest-to-goodness  _ whimpers _ are anything to go by. Slowly but surely, Shafeeq goes through as best as he can, cleaning and stitching, and bandaging the various wounds until his gloves and once-sterile tools are coated in Nightwing’s blood. He’ll have to work hard to sanitize them fully later, but it’s not something he can focus on now. 

It takes nearly two hours, but Shafeeq is finally happy enough with his work to gingerly work on moving Nightwing from the table to the bathroom, laying him carefully in the tub to wait until Shafeeq can clean up all his materials. That takes about thirty minutes, fifteen of which are spent scrubbing out the blood from beneath his window and feeling like he should get a raise for this, even though he’s not getting paid for it all. He probably should be, but despite his internal griping, he’s fairly sure that if Nightwing tried, Shafeeq would refuse it.

He already has a job that pays the bills. He doesn’t need any extra for doing a good deed.

When he’s finally satisfied enough with his first round of cleaning, he quickly pokes his head into the bathroom.

“Hey Nightwing,” Shafeeq says quietly into the dimly lit room. He earns a soft groan in reply. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired… hurty…” Nightwing says, sounding almost as pathetic as he looks. “Am I… in a bathtub?”

“Yeah, sorry. I need to put some clean sheets on the bed before I put you there, so you’re sitting in the bathtub. I disinfected it this morning, so it’s fine until I can put you to bed.”

“Oh,” Nightwing says quietly. Shafeeq can see his eyes flutter shut as he breathes out, “Thanks Alfred…”

Shafeeq raises an eyebrow. Who’s  _ Alfred _ ? Is Alfred the person who used to patch him up? An old friend? A babysitter? Whatever. It doesn’t matter, what matters is putting clean sheets on the bed and getting Nightwing into it. Then, it’ll be onto putting up his groceries (some of which are undoubtedly not fresh anymore, great), cleaning round two, and then, finally, taking a shower and passing out on the couch.

And to think, Doctor Cook had accused him of not having any plans for that night.  _ Hah _ , in her  _ face _ .

Shafeeq picks out the first set of sheets he finds in his closet, which just so happens to be a set of Superman sheets that his roommate from back in Gotham had gotten him as a gag gift one year. He totally hasn’t kept them around because he secretly loves them. He’s an  _ adult _ . 

Once the sheets and pillowcases are properly switched out, Shafeeq returns once more to the bathroom. He takes one look at the gently snoring Nightwing and, for a moment, feels bad about having to move him. He looks so  _ peaceful _ , sleeping in the bathtub, but the fact that he’s sleeping in a  _ bathtub _ , disinfected or not, is what wins out in the end. 

Carefully, doing his very best to not disturb Nightwing’s injuries  _ too _ much, Shafeeq hooks an arm under the vigilante’s knees and slides the other under his back. The motion earns a soft grunt of discomfort, but Shafeeq just shushes him quietly as he  _ lifts _ Nightwing from the tub.

He has to readjust his grip a couple times, but soon he’s bridal-carrying the superhero down the hall. It’s a bit awkward, because Shafeeq  _ really _ doesn’t want to hurt him or undo any of his hard work, but eventually he manages to get Nightwing gently settled on top of the Superman bedspread. Even with the mask on, Shafeeq can’t help but appreciate just how  _ peaceful _ he looks, and gives himself a mental pat on the back for being able to help with that.

Of course, the fact that  _ he _ had been the one to help with it, and not an  _ actual _ surgeon in an  _ actual _ hospital, rubs Shafeeq the wrong way. He isn’t going to get many answers from a sleeping superhero, though, so instead he takes a step away from the bed-- Only to be stopped by a hand suddenly gripping his wrist.

Shafeeq whips around in surprise, his dark brown eyes meeting the whiteouts of Nightwing’s mask. Nightwing’s face is unreadable for a moment before morphing into something almost…  _ vulnerable _ . Maybe even  _ afraid _ .

“Don’t go,” the vigilante’s voice is soft with sleep as he speaks, “Please.”

Shafeeq offers him a smile, carefully pulling his wrist out of Nightwing’s grasp before placing a hand onto his head. The hero practically melts into the touch, and Shafeeq chuckles softly before speaking, “I’ll be back in a second. I have to put away some groceries, but I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Nightwing murmurs, his body relaxing. “Okay…”

So, Shafeeq does just that. He puts away the groceries, grabs a fold-up chair, and sets himself up by Nightwing’s bed. At first, he thinks that Nightwing’s fallen asleep again, and he’s about to leave to go finish up his cleaning, but then Nightwing shifts slightly, turning his head to look at Shafeeq tiredly.

“Thank you,” Nightwing says, “For helping me. When I got here, you weren’t home… I was worried you wouldn’t get home before I… Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, but…,” Shafeeq pauses, because it  _ is _ a problem. There was a  _ very _ real possibility that he could’ve come home to a  _ dead _ Nightwing under his window, and  _ that _ would’ve been hard enough to explain to the police, nevermind all the medical stuff of dubious origin. If there’s a  _ chance _ that treating Nightwing could get his nursing license revoked, then he knows for  _ certain _ that he would lose it after  _ failing _ to. “Nightwing, I know it’s not really my business, but why don’t you just… go to the hospital? Or to a clinic? I think they’re a bit better equipped than a random nurse in his apartment.”

For a moment, Nightwing goes rigid, and Shafeeq is about to drop the subject when Nightwing just sighs, staring at Shafeeq with the same vulnerable look from before. Then, he whispers, “I don’t trust hospitals.”

“Why not?”

“I just… They just…”

Nightwing lets out a frustrated noise, and Shafeeq places his hand back onto Nightwing’s head, this time petting the vigilante’s dark curls slightly.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to explain,” Shafeeq says, “We all have our reasons for not trusting things. I don’t trust business majors, for instance.”

Nightwing raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yup. You don’t know pain until you’ve met a business major. They’re like a bunch of mini-Lex Luthors in the making. It’s horrifying.”

That earns a soft chuckle from the vigilante, who winces at the sudden movement. Shafeeq pulls his hand away from Nightwing’s head to gently hover it over the bandages on his abdomen, hand lingering there for several moments before Shafeeq pulls it back. 

“Alright ‘Wing. I gotta go finish cleaning up, and then I’m heading to bed. Get some rest. I’ll make you eggs in the morning, may even toss a cup of coffee in there for you.”

“You’re a god amongst men, Shafeeq.”

Shafeeq lets out a soft snort at that, and leaves the vigilante alone to sleep through the night.

\---

The next morning finds Shafeeq up early, making good on his promise from the night before as he guides Nightwing to the living area.

“How do you take your coffee, anyhow?” Shafeeq asks as he allows Nightwing to use him as a human crutch. 

“Black’s fine,” Nightwing says. Shafeeq gives him an incredulous look, and Nightwing’s voice takes on a slightly more defensive tone, “What?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Shafeeq asks, and when Nightwing only huffs out a laugh at him, he continues with, “How do you  _ live _ ?”

“Uh, awake?”

“Awake, but at what  _ cost _ ?”

“Okay then, mister nurse-man. How do  _ you _ take it?”

“With milk and sugar, duh,” Shafeeq helps lower Nightwing onto the couch slowly, throwing the vigilante a bit of a smirk as he finishes with, “Of course, I’ve been told eight teaspoons of sugar is a bit overkill, but what do they know?”

Shafeeq  _ wheezes _ at Nightwing’s horrified face, quickly absconding to the kitchen before the vigilante can decide to throw a pillow at him. 

By the time he’s done getting the coffee and eggs done, Nightwing’s already dozing off on the couch, and Shafeeq once again feels bad for having to wake him up, but he’s  _ not _ going to let his nice, hot coffee and eggs go cold. So, as he sets the breakfast down on the table, he carefully nudges Nightwing with his foot, and the vigilante wakes with a slight snort. 

He blinks a couple times, looking around the room as if he’s forgotten where he is before realization sets in, likely because Shafeeq had practically  _ shoved  _ a  _ very _ strong cup of black coffee under his nose.

“Thanks,” Nightwing says before taking a sip. He smacks his lips with a comfortable sigh, all but melting into the couch. “I really needed this.” 

“Don’t mention it. How’re you feeling?”

“How do you think?” Nightwing says, his tone edged with restrained bitterness. Then, with an apologetic smile, “Sorry. I kinda feel more like a stitched-together sausage than a person, but the coffee and eggs are definitely helping.”

“I feel like I already know the answer, but do you want something for the pain?” Shafeeq knows the answer. It’s the same every time.

“No thanks. I’ve had worse.”

Shafeeq doesn’t doubt that anymore, but it still makes him uneasy. The “worse” likely came from whenever Nightwing was doing things with the Justice League, or the Titans, which means he would get  _ proper _ medical attention, but what happens to him  _ outside _ of that stuff is still  _ bad _ . Too bad to keep dealing with on his own. 

Shafeeq’s worried, only thirteen visits in, that there’s going to come a day when he  _ can’t _ save Nightwing, no matter how hard he tries.

“Nightwing,” Shafeeq starts slowly, poking at his now half-eaten plate of eggs. “You don’t have to answer this, since it’s your business, but… why don’t you trust normal hospitals to help you?”

Nightwing stills for a moment, his last forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. Then, he sighs, placing the fork back onto his plate and leaning back onto the couch.

“It’s… a bit of a long story. In short, paranoia,” Nightwing says, and Shafeeq was content enough with that answer, but Nightwing threw a glance at him before continuing, “I was trained by Batman, so it comes with the territory. Hospitals have too many…  _ factors _ involved to be a good option. Too many people I don’t know if I can trust, too much vulnerability, and, of course, the police.”

“The police? What about them?” To be fair, Shafeeq doesn’t trust cops much either, but seeing as Nightwing  _ technically _ works with them, Shafeeq’s a bit surprised.

“Listen,” Nightwing begins, shifting to look at Shafeeq directly. “I may help out the PD here a bit by rounding up these guys, but we’re not exactly on great terms. Outside of League activities, what I do isn’t always…  _ legal _ . Toss in the fact that I’m not white, and it’s a bit of a disaster.”

“Oh,” Shafeeq’s eggs are getting cold. His coffee, too. He can’t seem to get himself to care enough to do anything about that, though. “Is there… Do you  _ really _ not have anyone else here to help you out? Like, your friends? Colleagues?”

“Most of them don’t live nearby enough to help me as often as you do. The ones that do are…” Nightwing pauses for a moment before continuing, “It’s complicated.”

“You mentioned someone last night. A guy named Alfred. Is he not--”

“I really don’t feel like talking about it right now, okay?” Nightwing snaps, and Shafeeq is taken aback by it. Nightwing must notice, because he sighs, adding on a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

“Not accepted,” Shafeeq says, though he keeps his voice gentle. “Nightwing, man, last night you were  _ lucky _ . If I hadn’t gotten home when I did last night--”

“I’ve got a beacon, too. I would’ve been okay.”

“That is  _ not _ what you said last night.”

“I don’t  _ like _ using it. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t’ve.”

Shafeeq lets out an annoyed sound, rubbing his hands down his face before clasping them together. Nightwing huffs, moving to stand on his own. He manages it for several moments, but if Shafeeq’s reflexes weren’t so good, the vigilante likely would’ve fallen into the coffee table, which would’ve been his  _ most _ embarrassing wound story to date.

“I’m fine,” Nightwing grits out, “I just… Get me the top part of my suit so I can patch it up once I get home.”

“You’re not  _ going _ home” Shafeeq decides, “Nurse’s orders.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Like hell I can’t,” Shafeeq’s not even going to pay the jar for that one. “You’re barely in condition to be  _ walking _ alone, much less walking home alone, and much,  _ much _ less doing your flippy hero crap.”

“Shafeeq, I’m warning you--”

“And I’m not listening. If you’re so worried about it, use your little beacon! I’m  _ sure _ your friends will be happy to get you away from someone who’s trying to keep your self-sacrificing behind alive.” 

Nightwing opens his mouth to argue, then he closes it again, hissing softly in pain. Shafeeq instantly eases his grip, not having realized he had tightened it. Nightwing takes a few more shaky breaths before saying, “I can manage.”

“I’m sure you can, now do you want to sit out here so you can watch T.V., or do you want to lay back down?”

\---

To his credit, Nightwing doesn’t try to sneak away for most of the day, though he does spend it restlessly shifting in Shafeeq’s bed. It’s pretty obvious the guy’s uncomfortable, though whether it’s because he’s in pain or because he hates being still, Shafeeq can’t say. He also can’t  _ ask _ Nightwing, because any attempts the nurse makes at conversation are met with silence, even when he asks the vigilante what he wants for lunch. 

He can’t  _ entirely _ blame Nightwing. He did pretty much  _ ground _ the man, forcing him to stay in an apartment he usually only visits for a night at most. But at the same time, Shafeeq cannot in good conscience let that man back out onto the streets. Not with those injuries, not even with a promise of relaxation.

So, Shafeeq makes him something simple for lunch: A PB&J. 

Shafeeq’s not willing to risk moving Nightwing again, so, going against his usual rules, he takes the sandwich to his room. With the lights off, the only light in the room is coming from the afternoon sunlight filtering through the plastic blinds, but even that is dimmed by the blinds being closed. 

As far as Shafeeq can tell, Nightwing’s breathing matches the breathing of someone who’s finally lost their battle against sleep. He breathes a slight sigh of relief, glad that the vigilante is finally resting again, placing the plate of food on the bedside table before taking a seat in the metal folding chair he’s set up next to the bed.

Shafeeq sighs again, more exasperated this time, and he speaks quietly, “You can’t keep doing this, ‘Wing. I don’t care if you’ve been at it for years at this point, it’s not… People  _ care _ about you. Seeing you get hurt like this, knowing that there isn’t anywhere else you go, it’s… it’s why I did this.  _ You _ started me on this whole nursing thing. 

“You made me want to help people, but  _ especially _ you. You and people  _ like _ you. You just… you give so  _ much _ ! It’s only fair that we give back, isn’t it? We owe you guys that much. And yet half the world hates or distrusts you, and the other half can’t decide whether you’re celebrities or gods. It’s not fair to you. You’re just…  _ people _ . People with incredible abilities and skills that others can only  _ dream _ of, sure, but still  _ people _ .

“Watching you run yourself ragged, tumbling into my window night after night with injuries, trying to laugh them off and get back to it as fast as possible… You deserve a better life than that. But here you are, circus boy,” Shafeeq smiles softly, placing his hand gently on Nightwing’s head before. “Playing hero. Smiling bright with a bullet wound and cracking jokes with a sprained ankle. The show must go on, I guess, but at least I can promise that I’ll be waiting for you at the end of it.” 

Shafeeq sighs again, pulling his hand away. He has to get ready for work, so he’ll have to check on Nightwing one more time before he leaves. Hopefully, the vigilante will sleep through the hours he’s gone, and Shafeeq can just catch him before he tries to make a run for it.

Shafeeq stands, takes one last look at the vigilante sleeping, and leaves the darkened room, unaware of the body on the bed shifting to watch him leave.

\---

Nightwing is gone by the time Shafeeq gets back. He can’t exactly say he’s surprised, but he  _ is _ worried. A fairly usual state of mind for him, at this point.

But, on the bright side, Nightwing isn’t spotted that night, so that hopefully means that the stubborn vigilante is actually  _ taking _ his medical advice about rest, and not that he’s going to wind up as a shocking headline in the paper about a body being found in the harbor.

Either way, when Shafeeq sees him again (because he  _ will _ see him again), he fully intends to rip him a new one.

\---

It’s nearly two weeks later, there haven’t been any Nightwing sightings, and it’s been a really  _ shitty _ morning for Shafeeq. 

He woke up late, his phone hadn’t charged the night before, his water pressure was  _ non-existent _ so his shower  _ sucked _ , and now, he’s running ten minutes late for his shift and he just  _ knows _ he’s going to die if he doesn’t get something in his stomach, because he was in such a hurry that he didn’t even bother with breakfast or coffee. He just grabbed his crap and  _ hauled ass _ .

So now, he’s standing in line at Starbucks, waiting patiently for his turn to order coffee. Well,  _ patiently _ isn’t quite the word he’s looking for, because he’s about to lose his mind at the lady at the front of the line for having one of the most convoluted orders on the planet and holding up the entire line. 

He takes a deep breath instead. Lets it out. He’s okay.

The man in front of him shakes his head with a slight huff. He turns around slightly, his dark, curly hair not quite allowing for a proper view of his face as he says, “This is insane.”

“You’re telling me,” Shafeeq agrees, and he’s  _ positive  _ he’s heard that voice before. “I just want to get some breakfast and a coffee. I would even drink it  _ black _ if I had to, I just need to get  _ going _ .”

“Willing to drink black? You really must be desperate,” the man turns, flashing him a smile, and Shafeeq’s heart stops, because he  _ knows  _ that smile, that face, though he’s not used to seeing a set of bright blue eyes. The man puts out his hand. “Dick. Dick Grayson.”

“Shafeeq,” Shafeeq says quietly, blinking away his stupor, “Shafeeq Jasín. You’re--”

“Looks like she’s finally done,” Nightwing,  _ Dick _ , says, turning back around. “What exactly are you getting?”

“Uh, probably the veggie wrap? And just a regular coffee, I can add the other stuff at work. Why? What are you doing here?”

“I’m on my way to work, too,” Dick glances back at Shafeeq’s confused face and chuckles slightly. “I teach an acrobatics class and a gymnastics class at Grant’s Gym off 39th. Pay’s not  _ great _ , but it works well enough. Why not just grab a coffee at work?”

The line moves, and the two shuffle forward. Shafeeq shrugs, then, remembering that Dick still has his back to him, says, “I’m never sure who’s working the shift before, so coffee’s usually a hit or miss. Besides, the doctors in the unit I’m being floated to have probably drunk it all already.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. They’re kinda jerks. Now, the doctors on my  _ usual _ unit? Absolute angels, even if their coffee always sucks. They still steal our pens, though. Of course, we steal them  _ back _ , but whatever.”

Dick lets out a soft laugh at that, and Shafeeq is almost ninety percent sure he’s dreaming right now. If it wasn’t for the fact that he  _ knows _ he doesn’t get vivid dreams, he’d be pinching himself. Hard. The line shifts again, and Dick is at the front.

“Hey. What can I get for you?” the barista asks, sounding  _ extremely _ uninterested, which sounds about right for a Starbucks barista in Blüdhaven. 

“Yeah, I need…,” Dick pauses, crossing his arms before continuing with, “Two grande black coffees, hot, and one veggie wrap.”

Shafeeq blinks. What?

“Name for the order?”

“Dick,” the barista gives Dick a look, and he sighs. “Richard, then.”

“We’ll call when it’s ready.”

Dick thanks her and pulls Shafeeq out of the line with him. For several moments, Shafeeq is just standing there, looking shaken. Then, finally, he says, “Did you just pay for my stuff?”

“Yup. And I tipped well, too. Figured she’ll need it.”

“I’m… Thanks.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. How’ve you been?”

The two of them talk for the five or so minutes that it takes for the order to come out, mostly just talking about what they’ve been up to for the past two weeks (Dick’s been resting, Shafeeq’s been working). Dick’s excited to get back to teaching classes. Shafeeq’s glad. That sorta thing.

Shafeeq takes his coffee and wrap from the barista, and he asks Dick, “Why’d you pay for me, anyways?”

“Oh, you know,” Shafeeq can hear a fond smile in his voice. “You give me coffee all the time. Least I could do is return the favor. You know…  _ give back _ , and all.”

Shafeeq pauses for a second, his eyes going wide, but by the time he turns around, Dick is already out the door. He debates going after him for a moment, but one glance at the time has him letting out a soft swear that he’ll have to pay the jar for later, and he’s on his way to work once more.

Besides, if Dick’s healed up enough to teach his classes again, Nightwing’s probably healed up enough for patrol duty. Shafeeq’s going to see him soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check me out on tumblr!
> 
> dc: gothamhell.tumblr.com  
> main: fandom-trash224.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so. my brain sorta turned to mush towards the end of writing this chapter, so if it's... off, that's why
> 
> i hope u enjoy it nonetheless!

It’s been nearly two months since Shafeeq met Dick at Starbucks, and honestly, it’s been a bit of a wild ride.

Shafeeq still sees more of Nightwing than he does of Dick, but the times he  _ does  _ see Dick are nice. They always end up talking about  _ normal  _ stuff, and it's usually over coffee.

Shafeeq tells him about work and how they keep moving his schedule around, or about various patients he had the day before, or even about his parents and extended family. Dick tells him about his dysfunctional family and his wide array of friends, and after a few of their hangouts, Shafeeq  _ finally  _ learns who Alfred is.

On the one hand, he finds it sweet that Dick, in his exhaustion-and-injury-induced haze, thought that Shafeeq was the kind old man; On the other, he’s mildly offended by the notion. Either way, he lets it slide. 

He honestly wishes he could see Dick more often than Nightwing, because normally, when he sees Nightwing, he’s almost always injured. Sometimes it’s simple things, quick dressing of the wounds, cleaning scrapes, icing bruises, but other times, it’s worse. Much worse. It’s during those heart-stopping visits that the fear in the back of Shafeeq’s mind gets louder.

One day, he won’t be enough to save Nightwing. 

And if he can’t save Nightwing, it means he can’t save  _ Dick _ .

It’s a thought that’s begun to persist  _ past _ those visits, even invading his mind as he laughs at some corny pun Dick makes while they’re drinking coffee together. It’s pretty annoying, and Shafeeq’s fairly sure he’s going to need to find a good therapist soon, both for himself  _ and _ Dick.

In Shafeeq’s personal and professional opinion, Dick  _ really _ needs to get some therapy. Based on the kind of injuries he visits Shafeeq with, the fact that he has nightmares when he’s resting at Shafeeq’s place (not that he’d admit it), and the  _ stories _ he tells the nurse, it’s pretty obvious that Dick’s got issues that require a bit of fixing.

(His entire  _ family _ probably does, too, based on what Shafeeq’s been told about them, but for now, Shafeeq’s main concern is his friend.)

Of course, Shafeeq has yet to approach Dick about the possibility of therapy. He’s been meaning to, he  _ really _ has, but Dick’s  _ already _ skittish about the idea of going to a hospital, of being  _ physically _ vulnerable… emotional vulnerability doesn’t exactly seem like it’d be an appealing option to the vigilante. 

Shafeeq groans in frustration at his spiraling thoughts, unable to enjoy the cooking show he had playing on the T.V. anymore. When he first started all this, he knew there’d be more to it than just slapping some bandages on wounds and calling it a day, and he’s  _ still _ willing to keep it going, but it’s  _ hard _ to deal with it all when the person he’s trying to help seems almost  _ allergic _ to getting help.

A knock at his door has Shafeeq sighing a bit as he gets up to answer it, and when he’s greeted by a very tired, very  _ distressed-looking _ Dick Grayson, he’s a bit surprised.

“Dick?” Shafeeq says, his brows furrowing as he takes in the other man’s appearance. He’s wearing black sweatpants, a grey Gotham U hoodie with the hood pulled over his head, and a pair of flip flops. Even without looking at Dick’s red, puffy eyes and sober expression, Shafeeq can tell something’s wrong. “Do you need to come in?”

“I… Please?” Dick’s voice is hoarse, and Shafeeq’s heart aches as he steps to the side to let the vigilante in, closing the door behind him.

Dick just stands there for a moment, his hands shoved into the large front pocket of the hoodie, his whole form hunched slightly. Shafeeq takes a step towards him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder, pulling it away when Dick flinches slightly under the touch. 

“Take a seat,” Shafeeq says, carefully moving past the vigilante and gesturing towards the couch. “I already had a pot of coffee going, I’ll grab you a cup.” 

Dick nods numbly, dropping down onto the couch without so much as a pun. It’s worrying, to say the least, so Shafeeq wastes no time retrieving the simple black and blue mug from the cabinet and pouring out a cup for Dick. 

He places the mug in front of the other man, but Dick doesn’t even move. He barely even acknowledges Shafeeq as the nurse joins him on the couch, and worry sloshes around uncomfortably in Shafeeq’s gut. Once again, Shafeeq places a hand onto Dick’s shoulder, keeping it there this time when Dick doesn’t try to move away.

“Hey,” Shafeeq says quietly, squeezing the vigilante’s shoulder slightly. “What’s goin’ on, Dick? Talk to me.”

Dick turns his head towards Shafeeq, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again with a sigh. He turns his gaze towards the coffee table, leaning slightly into Shafeeq’s touch. 

“There was a hostage situation last night,” Dick finally says, his voice quiet. “A family being held at gunpoint in their own shop alongside some regulars. It was… I’ve dealt with it a million times before, but…”

“But something happened?” Shafeeq prompts quietly. Dick nods.

“It was a group of three holding them up. I managed to take down one of them, but the other two,” Dick’s breath hitches, and he pauses for a moment. Shafeeq rubs his back soothingly, a silent encouragement and comfort. Dick swallows thickly, continuing, “The other two managed to grab two of the family members. The father and the daughter. I… The one with the daughter was trying to run out the back, the one with the dad was threatening to shoot if I moved…”

Dick takes a shuddering breath, rubbing his face with his hands. Shafeeq’s brows furrow in concern, but he doesn’t prompt again. 

After several moments of deep, steadying breathing, Dick continues on his own, his voice thick, “I couldn’t-- I had to choose. I went after the girl, I  _ had _ to, she was just-- She was so  _ young _ , I--”

Another pause, and this time Dick lets out a sob. Shafeeq scoots closer to him, pulling Dick into a tight hug. He can feel hot tears against his neck as Dick buries his face into it, soft sobs wracking the other man’s body. He doesn’t need Dick to continue to get the gist of what happened. 

Nightwing went after the girl, saved her, but the moment he did, he had signed her father’s death warrant. A hero’s worst nightmare.

Shafeeq, at first, doesn’t know what else to do but let Dick cry against him. Slowly, he uses one hand to pull the hoodie down so he can gently run his fingers through Dick’s dark hair. He recalls that running fingers through Dick’s hair is a pretty good way to help the vigilante relax, and even though Dick’s still crying, his body manages to release just a bit of the tension from before. 

“It’s not your fault,” Shafeeq says quietly. He pauses as Dick lets out a particularly hard sob, then continues, “You did what you could. That’s all anyone can ever ask of you.”

“I--” Dick gasps out quietly, pulling back from Shafeeq slightly to look him in the eyes. “It’s my  _ job _ to--”

“To protect people. To help. You  _ did _ . You saved his little girl, and it’s what he would’ve wanted.”

“She came back-- She saw--”

Shafeeq gently takes Dick’s face in his hands, the nurse using his thumbs to wipe at the tears still streaking down the other man’s cheeks. Then he says, “You can’t save everyone, Dick. Nobody can. It’ll break you if you try.”

“I…” Dick’s voice is a slight tremble, even as he lets out a soft, bitter laugh. “I think I’m already pretty broken.”

“No more than anybody else in this shitty city, circus boy,” That earns a genuine laugh from Dick, and Shafeeq can’t help but feel a bit of pride. “As your emergency medical provider, and this  _ does _ count as a medical emergency in my book, I’m recommending that you take a night off. Maybe even two.”

Dick looks like he’s about to protest, but then he sighs, an exhausted sound, and leans his forehead against Shafeeq’s shoulder.

“Can I stay here?” He asks quietly, his voice barely a whisper. 

“Of course,” Shafeeq says, rubbing his back gently. “What kind of nurse would I be to turn my patient away?”

\---

The first night Dick is there passes without much incident. Dick spends most of it asleep, taking the couch for once instead of the bed, but in the morning, Shafeeq is surprised to find Dick awake, softly whistling as he makes--

“Where did you learn to make khageena?” Shafeeq asks once the sleepy stupor has passed, sliding past Dick to get the coffee started. Dick shrugs.

“Back at the circus, one of the other performers used to make it sometimes. It’s not  _ that _ hard to make.” 

“I know,” Shafeeq brings down two fresh mugs, lamenting the fact that he hadn’t washed their usual ones the day before. “But still. It’s not every day I wake up to my friend-slash-patient making it for me.”

Dick just shrugs again, and Shafeeq laughs softly. The two continue to talk for the rest of the morning, easy laughter filling the apartment with more light than the sun could ever hope to.

\---

The second night, Shafeeq and Dick both have nightmares.

They end up sitting together in the dimly lit living room, sipping coffee in silence. They don’t talk about it.

\---

Shafeeq is actually working for a good chunk of the third night, covering a shift for one of his coworkers after her wife ended up going into labor that morning. He tells Dick to just take the bed, and they can deal with it later.

After a night full of disrespectful patients, know-it-all doctors, and some frankly  _ shitty _ service from the place he went to for dinner, Shafeeq’s honestly ready to just get changed and flop into bed next to Dick without even bothering to move him, but as he’s taking his shoes off and putting his coat up, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He’s being watched.

Slowly, Shafeeq reaches into his pocket, fingering his pepper spray, the slight weight of the emergency beacon in the other pocket of his scrubs becoming more and more apparent as he slowly makes his way into the living room.

He locks eyes with someone entering through the window, and considering the fact that Dick is asleep in Shafeeq’s bed, and the fact that the intruder is wearing a cowl, Shafeeq can assume it’s  _ not _ Dick.

The intruder stands, and Shafeeq’s jaw nearly drops, because the fucking  _ Batman _ just climbed in through his window.

There’s a beat of awkward silence before Batman speaks, his voice low and gravely, “Shafeeq Jasín.”

Shafeeq blinks, then, as unimpressed as he can look and sound, he replies, “Batman. To what do I owe the visit?”

“I think we both know the answer to that question,” Batman says, casting a glance towards the door to Shafeeq’s room. He looks back at Shafeeq, who can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Logically, he knows Batman won’t hurt him, since he hasn’t  _ technically _ broken any laws (aside from running an illegal vigilante clinic out of his apartment), but Shafeeq’s stupid brain still hasn’t caught up with everything.

Which means his filter is firmly  _ off _ , and his sass is  _ on _ .

“I thought vampires needed permission to enter somebody’s home,” Shafeeq says, crossing his arms. “Or am I misremembering my movie monster trivia?”

“I’m not a vampire,” Batman growls, and Shafeeq shrugs.

“Whatever you say. The way Dick talks about you, though--”

“ _ What did you just say? _ ”

Batman is staring at him with an intensity that could probably stop a supervillain in their tracks, but Shafeeq’s been living in Blüdhaven for a while, and he lived in Gotham before that. He even got his fair share of glares just  _ growing up _ in his hometown. 

A six-foot-whatever man dressed up as a bat glaring at him isn’t about to scare him stiff.

“Dick. It’s his name,” Shafeeq can’t help the slight smile that creeps onto his face. “He didn’t tell you I know his name.”

“How much do you know?” Batman asks, taking a step forward. Shafeeq’s hand slides back into his pocket, curling around his pepper spray.

“Enough to put two and two together if I wanted to. But considering I really don’t care, and the fact that Dick is my  _ friend _ , the secret’s safe with me…  _ B _ .”

Batman stands there for several tense moments, his gaze switching from a  _ glare _ to something more…  _ assessing _ . Like he’s trying to size Shafeeq up and decide whether to beat him up  _ now _ , or arrest him  _ later _ . Realistically, Shafeeq wouldn’t be able to do much against either, but he keeps himself steady under the vigilante’s stare. 

“Hm,” is Batman’s reply, which, frankly, is a bit anticlimactic. Batman turns to Shafeeq’s room again, then back to Shafeeq as he asks, surprisingly concerned, “How is he?”

“He’s asleep,” Shafeeq says, still on the defensive, but more for  _ Dick’s _ sake than his own. “If you go in there to watch him and you  _ wake him up _ , so  _ help _ me, I don’t  _ care _ who you are, I will--”

The sound of shuffling has Shafeeq going silent, both he and Batman casting a glance at Shafeeq’s bedroom door. When it doesn’t open, Shafeeq drops his voice to a whisper, “Meet me on the rooftop. We’ll continue this talk  _ there _ .”

“Hm,” is the simple reply, and Shafeeq pretends it’s a yes.

\---

Thankfully, Shafeeq assumed correctly, because by the time he gets to the rooftop, Batman is there, waiting for him like a living shadow against the skyline of the city. It’s the shadow, with his back turned to Shafeeq, that speaks first.

“How long have you known his identity?” 

“Two months,” Shafeeq says, “I saved his life a couple weeks before, and he met up with me in a Starbucks. If I had wanted to do something with it before then, I would’ve.”

“I know,” Batman says, turning to face Shafeeq. “Dick mentioned you seemed trustworthy, but he hadn’t told me you knew his identity.”

“Huh,” Shafeeq crosses his arms. “It’s almost as if he’s his own man with his own life.”

“I am  _ well _ aware he is. I only came to check on him because he’s been off-duty for  _ three days _ without any notice.”

“What? Heroes can’t take vacations, too?” Batman lets out a soft grunt at that, but Shafeeq is unphased and continues, “He’s probably going back tomorrow. He’s getting too antsy  _ not _ to. You’ll have your precious little Nightwing back soon enough.”

“Hn…”

“You’re pretty bad at communication. Has anybody ever told you that?” That earns a glare, one that Shafeeq matches with his own. “Listen  _ Batman _ , it’s obvious you and I want the same thing.”

“And that is?”

“To keep Dick safe, but considering the kind of life he’s leading, it’s hard to do that, so we do the next best thing: We help him. We patch him up, keep an eye out for him, that sort of thing. I don’t know how much you’ve heard about me, but I’ve heard enough about you to know I’m not going to earn your trust anytime soon. Honestly, I don’t  _ care _ if you don’t trust me.  _ Dick _ trusts me, and I trust Dick. That  _ should _ be enough for you.”

“And if it isn’t?”

Shafeeq has two answers on the tip of his tongue. One is polite, level-headed, and calm. Something that would probably appease Batman and get him to leave Shafeeq alone for a bit.

The other one flies out of Shafeeq’s mouth before he can stop it, “Then you can kiss my ass.”

There’s a tense moment of silence between them, and in that moment Shafeeq is  _ convinced _ that Batman’s about to… well, do  _ something _ , but instead, Batman just says, “And you’re not worried about someone coming after you to get to Dick?”

“I--” Shafeeq blinks in confusion, but says, “Sometimes. He gave me an emergency beacon, though. And I have pepper spray. And a few self-defense classes under my belt.”

“Pepper spray won’t stop Killer Croc from tearing you apart.”

“Neither will dressing up as a bat, but here we are.”

Shafeeq swears that, just for a  _ second _ , he sees the corner of Batman’s mouth twitch up slightly. Shafeeq’s pretty proud of that, if it’s not just his imagination. 

“Hm… You’re right. I don’t trust you,” Batman says, “But I do trust Dick’s judgement. Just know that the  _ moment _ you try  _ anything _ \--”

“I  _ won’t _ ,” Shafeeq snaps, “Dick is my  _ friend _ and Nightwing is my  _ hero _ . I’m a  _ nurse _ for crying out loud! It’s my  _ job _ to  _ heal _ , not  _ hurt _ .”

Batman pauses for a moment, assessing Shafeeq once more. Then, he says, “You could get in a lot of trouble if anyone found out about this. You could--”

“Lose my license, get sent to jail, yeah. I know,” Shafeeq pauses. A gust of wind blows across the rooftop, causing Batman’s cape to billow dramatically around him as it only serves to mess with Shafeeq’s hair. Then, quietly, Shafeeq says, “It’s worth the risk. Doing the right thing is  _ always _ worth the risk.”

Batman’s eyes go wide for a moment before his mask of neutral displeasure slides back into place. 

“It is,” he agrees, then, “Who do you buy from?”

“It depends. Do you plan on beating them up and throwing them in jail?”

Batman doesn’t reply. Shafeeq hesitates, but then he just sighs. No point in fighting against The World’s Greatest Detective. 

“There’s a clinic off of fourteenth, it’s run by a man called Dr. Pazera. I don’t know his first name. It helps out people who can’t go to hospitals for whatever reason. He’s… He’s a good man, Batman. He’s just trying to help people.”

“I know,” Batman says, turning around and walking towards the side of the building. Shafeeq follows him to it, standing a few feet back, just in case. Batman doesn’t even turn around when he continues, “I want you to stop going to him.”

“But I need  _ supplies _ , and I’m not going to steal  _ blood _ from the  _ hospital _ \--”

“You’ll have your supplies. Someone called Oracle will be in touch soon. Anything you need, you contact her and it’ll get to you.”

“What about Dr. Pazera? You’re not going to arrest him, are you?”

“No,” Batman says, pressing a button on his belt. “I’m not.”

“Then what are you--” Shafeeq is interrupted by the sound of something  _ whooshing _ overhead them, and, with his mouth agape, he watches as the Batplane hovers just off the edge of the building. Before Shafeeq can say anything more, Batman hops up into it, and, with a nod, he flies off into the night, leaving Shafeeq alone on the gravel rooftop.

This is just his life now, isn’t it? 

\---

By the time Shafeeq wakes up the next morning, Dick is on the phone with somebody, whisper-yelling about “keeping secrets” and “he’s  _ fine _ , B”. Shafeeq clears his throat, and Dick throws him a glance before throwing up a finger in a “one moment” gesture.

Shafeeq nods, making his way to the kitchen and grabbing himself a cup of coffee, putting a pop-tart into his toaster. He’s not in the mood to make eggs. He’s still waiting for the pastry to finish when Dick finishes his phone call, entering the kitchen with a sour expression on his face.

“Bruce or Batman?” Shafeeq asks casually, because that’s the sort of question that’s just part of his normal life now.

“Both,” Dick groans, “First he was angry that I didn’t contact him before taking a break, then he was worried about why I  _ needed _ the break,  _ then _ he was angry again about me not talking more about  _ you _ \-- Did he  _ seriously _ visit last night?”

“Yup,” Shafeeq takes a sip of his coffee before continuing, “You really weren’t kidding when you said he speaks caveman and paranoiac.”

Dick groans again. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Shafeeq’s pop-tart finishes, and he quickly fishes it out and plops it onto a plate. “It was bound to happen eventually. I’m honestly surprised it took him  _ this _ long to come check me out, and he didn’t even  _ mean _ to this time.”

Dick nods with a sigh, leaning against the kitchen counter. Then, he says, “I’m going back tonight. Three nights is already pushing it for this city, a fourth--”

“Could mean disaster,” Shafeeq finishes, “I know.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Shafeeq takes a bite of his poptart, only half-chewing it before saying, “Just… don’t beat yourself up so much, okay? If something goes wrong. You’re doing your best, which is a  _ lot _ more than what most people do.”

“No promises,” Dick says with a wry smile. Shafeeq wants to chase down that line of conversation, but he knows it’s not going to go anywhere. Maybe one day it will, but for now, all Shafeeq can really offer Dick is a shoulder to cry on, a bed to sleep in, and a warm cup of coffee.

“Of course not,” Shafeeq says. He takes a sip from his mug, the bitterness of the black coffee washing away the artificially sweet pop-tart flavor. He finds that he doesn’t mind it much anymore. 

\---

It’s after Dick leaves that Shafeeq gets the text from Oracle, alongside a link to an article about a  _ huge _ donation to Dr. Pazera’s clinic from the Wayne Foundation, and he can’t help but smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so fun fact! i forgot i had actually finished and not yet published this chapter while i was working on the next chapter (bc this one and that one are... _very_ connected), so uh. sorry for the wait i guess? hdhfhjb anywho enjoy!

“You have got to be kidding me…”

Shafeeq looks up from his coffee to his coworker, Timpani, as she stares down at the files in her hands. It’s only two hours into Shafeeq’s eight hour shift, but after dealing with several fear toxin-related issues—  _ fuck _ Scarecrow and  _ fuck _ his toxin— Shafeeq is more-or-less ready to go home to his apartment and sleep until Nightwing inevitably pops into his window or his alarm goes off the day after tomorrow for his next shift. 

“What have we got?” Shafeeq asks, standing to take a look at the files in her hands. His eyes instantly hit the name  _ Wayne _ , and he’s  _ very _ glad he hadn’t been holding anything, because it would’ve been broken on the floor. “No way. No  _ freaking _ way.”

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,” Timpani reads quietly, “Brought in by his bodyguard and his adopted brother for a pretty nasty gash on his side.Nothing life-threatening, but apparently he’s immuno-compromised and they wanted to make sure he’d be okay.”

“Hm,” Shafeeq hums slightly, weighing his options before holding out his hand for the files. “I'll take this one, Timpi.”

“You sure?” Timpani asks, an eyebrow raised as she passes the file to him. “You and I both know how these rich types can be.”

“Eh, it’s fine. I’m uh… I’m actually kinda sorta…  _ friends _ with one of them.”

Timpani’s jaw drops a bit. “You’re  _ what _ ?”

“Yeah. Dick Grayson. It’s uh, it’s a long story,” Shafeeq clears his throat. “I should probably go check in on them before they throw a fit.”

He leaves Timpani behind with a confused expression on her face, and after making sure he doesn’t have to gear up or anything, he enters the private room reserved for people who can’t be housed with the other patients. 

His gaze first hits the actual  _ patient _ , Timothy Drake-Wayne. Other than the nasty (but not deep, from what Shafeeq can tell with a quick glance) gash on his side, he actually seems more annoyed to be there than actually in pain, but if dealing with Nightwing has taught Shafeeq anything, it’s that vigilantes are  _ obscenely _ good at masking their pain. It’s annoying, frankly. 

Then, his eyes meet Dick’s, and Dick has a look on his face that’s somewhere between embarrassed and ecstatic. As the door slides shut behind Shafeeq, Dick says, “Hey Shafeeq, I thought you said you were working med-surg tonight?”

“Scheduling error had them overstaffed, so I got sent here,” Shafeeq says, walking over towards Tim’s side and setting the file down at the foot of the bed. “Do I even  _ want _ to know how this happened, or is it a night job-related story that’s probably best left untold?”

A glance between Tim and Dick tells Shafeeq what he needs to know, and he sighs, pulling his stethoscope from around his neck. 

“Alright Mr. Wayne--”

“Please, just call me Tim.”

“Alright Tim, I’m gonna do a quick examination, then we’ll chat a bit about…  _ this _ .”

With a nod, Tim sits up, and Shafeeq goes through the motions of a usual examination, his focus on the task at hand only occasionally being broken by a quick exchange of pleasantries between him and Dick. When he’s done with the general examination, he takes a closer look at the gash in Tim’s side.

Calling it a  _ gash _ is a bit generous. It’s a pretty long cut for sure, and according to Dick, it was caused by something metal. Shafeeq scribbles down a recommendation for a tetanus shot into the file, ignoring the face Tim pulls at it. After seeing some of the other scars Tim has, and recalling the wounds he’s had to patch up on Dick, Shafeeq figures it’s not the worst thing Tim’s had.

Still, it’s going to need stitches, a shot, and, with Tim’s  _ lack of spleen _ , a  _ lot _ of antibiotics.

“Okay,” Shafeeq begins, “First things first, I  _ sincerely _ hope you don’t plan on going on patrol with  _ that _ .”

“I’ve gone out with worse,” Tim says, and Shafeeq is convinced that Dick’s said something like it to him before, which causes the nurse to throw a glance at the acrobat in the room. Dick just offers an awkward smile as Tim continues: “Besides, it’s not as bad as what happened to Dick and Jason last week.”

“I don’t  _ care _ if it isn’t as bad,” Shafeeq says, though he  _ is _ mildly curious about what happened to Dick last week, considering he hadn’t  _ mentioned _ anything about it. “If you two, plus your  _ ‘bodyguard’  _ Jason, end up coming in through the window tonight because of open or infected stitches, I swear, I’m gonna go full-on supervillain. I’ll get a costume and everything.”

“But--”

“It’s bad enough I have to deal with  _ him _ \--” Shafeeq points at Dick, who at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Constantly getting hurt because he pushes himself too hard. I don’t need to have to add his little brother to the list of people I take care of. So  _ please _ , for my peace of mind if nothing else,  _ don’t go on patrol until your stitches are healed up _ .”

Tim is simply staring at him with wide eyes, and a snort from behind Shafeeq has the nurse swinging his head around to meet a pair of green-blue eyes. He does not let out a slight yelp, much to his own surprise, but he’s certainly startled by the sudden appearance of Jason. 

He manages to play it cool, however, moving to let the other man into the room as he says, “I’m guessing you’re Jason, then?”

He gets a whiff of lingering cigarette smoke on the man as he moves past the nurse, and Shafeeq has to work  _ very  _ hard to not scrunch his nose up at the smell. Dick had mentioned one of his brothers having a smoking problem, so this is  _ definitely _ Jason, confirmed when the man gives a half-smile and nod. Like Dick and Tim, he doesn’t seem to be very comfortable with being in a hospital setting. 

“Alright,” Shafeeq says with a sigh, picking up the file. “I’m going to go get the doctor. He’ll stitch you up, then--”

“Can’t you just do it?” Tim asks, “I mean, I know you’re a nurse, but--”

“Let me guess: You don’t trust doctors in the ER?”

“It’s not that we don’t  _ trust _ them,” Jason interjects, “We just figure if there’s somebody we trust already here, it’s better to ask  _ them _ instead.”

Dick shoots his brothers a look, something like disapproval, but they seem unphased by it.

Shafeeq blinks. He knows that Dick trusts him. He has to, considering, well…  _ everything _ . And he knows that Bat-Wayne trusts him by default, but he wasn’t aware that the  _ rest _ of the family evidently does too. Huh. That makes him feel…  _ something _ .

“I’ll see what I can do,” Shafeeq says quietly, slipping out of the room. 

\---

“Hey Timpani,” Shafeeq says casually, “You remember that favor you owe me?”

“Oh no,” Timpani’s tone is full of faux dread. “What did they ask for and why could it get us in trouble?”

“Nothing  _ too _ bad,” Shafeeq drops his voice in an attempt to keep what he’s saying between the two nurses. “Apparently Mr. Drake-Wayne has had one too many bad experiences with doctors to trust them. When they realized who I was, the bodyguard suggested I just take care of the stitching, to try and keep things as private as possible.”

“ _ Shafeeq _ … Don’t tell me you  _ agreed _ .”

“I said I’d see what I could do. C’mon, Timpi… As cool as Dick is, who  _ knows _ how his brother will react to being told no--”

“You’re not advanced practice, Shafeeq,” Timpani hisses, “I put up with a lot of your shit, Jasín, but this isn’t just bypassing a doctor’s orders to help get some little kid life-saving medication or whatever. This is a rich kid being a  _ brat _ .”

“It’s  _ not _ ,” Shafeeq snaps defensively, causing Timpani to startle back slightly. Shafeeq winces. “Sorry, it’s… It’s a long story, Timpani. Just  _ trust _ me, okay? You know that I know what I’m doing.”

Timpani looks Shafeeq up and down for a moment before sighing out, “Fine. But if you get caught, I’m not bailing you out.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“Right. Looks like Doctor McCall is assigned to your boys, but they’ve been pretty busy with the toxin patients. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve seen patients and don’t remember it.”

“Think you can get a signature for an antibiotics prescription?”

“You  _ do _ know who you’re talking to, right?”

Shafeeq flashes her a grin, and goes to collect what he needs for the sutures.

\---

“Thanks for helping out earlier, by the way,” Nightwing says through a mouthful of rocky road ice cream as Shafeeq gently applies the antibiotic cream to the road rash on his back. He swallows it before continuing, “Tim didn’t get the chance to thank you properly, so I figured I would.”

“Don’t mention it,” Shafeeq says, gently taping gauze over the raw skin. Dick glances back slightly before looking forward again.

“I kinda feel like I should, I mean… it’s bad enough you’re doing  _ this _ ,” Dick gestures around the apartment, focusing on the small tray of medical supplies he had been using moments before to clean and dress the other various wounds littering Nightwing’s body. “But at the  _ actual hospital _ … You probably should’ve said no.”

Shafeeq shrugs slightly, saying, “It’s not the first time someone in that hospital has done something like that… you wouldn’t  _ believe _ some of the stories I’ve heard.”

Dick turns around fully at that, an eyebrow arched. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. My legally dubious activities look downright  _ tame _ compared to some of the assholes there.”

“Jar…” Dick chides quietly, but he seems lost in thought for several moments. Then, he says, “You could seriously get in a lot of trouble, doing all this. Or worse--”

“Quit trying to scare me off, circus boy,” Shafeeq says firmly. “We’ve been at this for too long for me to not know the risks.”

“Yeah, well--” Dick freezes, slowly placing his bowl on the coffee table. “Hold on. Window check.”

Shafeeq also freezes, his mind operating on autopilot as he reaches for the pepper spray in his pocket. Dick reaches for his escrima sticks as they glue their eyes to the window. A small shadow passes over it, and Shafeeq tenses as the window opens, and in tumbles--

“Robin?” Dick exclaims, standing up suddenly. “What are you-- You’re supposed to be back at the cave! You’re  _ sick _ !”

“Tt,” the kid (a  _ kid _ , what the  _ fuck _ ) crosses his arms, eyeing up Shafeeq before looking directly at Dick. As he speaks, it’s obvious he’s stuffed up pretty bad. “I was not about to let some sniffles stop me from assisting you on this mission, especially with Red Robin unable to perform his duties.”

Dick opens his mouth to say something, probably to berate the kid for ignoring orders or whatever, but Shafeeq beats him to the punch with, “You do realize that sniffles can become something a  _ lot _ worse if you don’t give it time to get better, right?”

Robin’s eyes narrow directly at Shafeeq from behind his domino, and Shafeeq gets the vague impression that it’s meant to be the kid’s version of a batglare. Really, all Shafeeq feels under the gaze is mildly amused, though he keeps his face as even as possible.

“I am  _ well _ aware,  _ Jasín _ ,” Robin says, “I will be fine. I have trained myself--”

“Listen, you’re what? Eleven?” Shafeeq asks, cutting Robin off. He looks downright indignant at that, and Shafeeq has to suppress a laugh before he continues, “I don’t care how much training you have. Sick is sick, and you are not immune to pneumonia.”

Shafeeq hears Dick smother a snort as Robin and Shafeeq stare each other down, mirroring each other's crossed arms and determined expressions. Then, Shafeeq notices that Robin keeps glancing back at the other vigilante in the room, and several other pieces of a puzzle fall into place, and it  _ clicks _ . 

“Hey ‘Wing,” Shafeeq says, turning to look at the other man. “Do me a favor and leave the room. I’d like to talk to your brother alone for a moment.”

Dick raises an eyebrow, but after looking at Shafeeq for a moment, he just shrugs and says, “Alright. I’ll be changing in the bedroom if you need me. Don’t be rude to him, okay?”

“Shout if you need anything,” Shafeeq says, getting the distinct feeling that the last part of that was not directed at him. As soon as Shafeeq sees the bedroom door close, he looks back to Robin and asks, “Would you like to take a seat, or would you rather stand the whole time?”

Robin lets out a small huff, but begrudgingly walks over to the couch in the living area and sits down, keeping himself on the edge of it, ready to bolt at any moment. Shafeeq walks into the kitchen, pouring himself a mug of coffee. It’s the last in that pot; he’ll have to apologize to Dick later.

“Would you like some tea? Might help out with the sinus issues, soothe your throat a bit if it’s sore.”

A beat of silence, then, “What do you plan on serving?”

“Uh, let’s see,” Shafeeq opens the cabinet he keeps his coffee and tea stuff in, pulling out all the boxes he has. It’s a somewhat pitiful amount compared to the amount of coffee he keeps in the house, which probably says something, but in Shafeeq’s opinion,  _ it  _ can kindly shut up. “I’ve got mint and hibiscus. Take your pick.”

“... Mint.”

“Nice choice,” Shafeeq says, pulling down another mug from the cabinet. He goes through the motions of making it in the microwave, making a mental note to make sure Dick keeps the kid from tattling on him for it to their butler. 

Then, he sits on the same couch as Robin, making sure to keep a bit of distance between them for both their sakes, as he places the tea on the coffee table in front of the young vigilante. Robin doesn’t reach for it at first, which really only helps cement the idea that Shafeeq has in his head about what this is all  _ really _ about.

A while back, when Dick had been talking about his younger brothers, he had mentioned something about his youngest brother being a lot like his father is: caring, but not in the usual sort of way. His brand of caring is distrusting family friends until they are proven trustworthy, tough love, and care thinly veiled as something for the mission.

Shafeeq’s 100% sure that as soon as he realized Red Robin was off the roster, the kid crawled out of bed, got ready, and snuck out to make sure that Dick is safe with Shafeeq  _ for real _ . Once again, Shafeeq is mildly surprised it took him this long.

“If you’d like,” Shafeeq begins, looking between Robin and the cup of tea. “I could take a sip first to prove it’s safe.”

Robin looks at him suspiciously and says, “You assume I do not trust you.”

It’s not a question, but Shafeeq answers it as if it is one. “Yes. Your father didn’t, still doesn’t, but he says Dick does, so that’s enough for him. I’m assuming that’s not the case for you.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because he’s your brother, and while you people seem to have a  _ distinct _ lack of self-preservation skills, sneaking out while sick and meeting up with your partner at the place where the person you don’t trust lives as opposed to waiting till you two were alone, well…,” Shafeeq takes a sip of his coffee. “From what Dick tells me, you’re smart enough to know that’s a bad idea for  _ multiple _ reasons.”

Robin stares at him for a moment, sniffs hard, then firmly says, “You are correct.”

“About the ‘not trusting me’ thing, or the ‘you being smart’ thing?”

“Yes.”

Shafeeq can’t help to soft snort at that, even though it’s pretty evident that the answer was only a half-joke at most. Then, he gets serious again.

“I get it. Random guy pops up and starts helping Nightwing out of nowhere. I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Batman: Dick’s my friend, and before that he was my  _ hero _ . I became a nurse to  _ help _ him, to help  _ people _ , not hurt. Honestly, if I  _ wanted _ to hurt him, or  _ any  _ of you for that matter, wouldn’t I have done it by now?”

“There are plenty of villains who are content with playing the long con. Get closer and closer until it is the perfect time to strike.”

“Alright,” Shafeeq mutters, sipping his coffee again as he attempts to map out a plan for dealing with the ungodly amount of paranoia in Dick’s family. “That’s fair. Either way, your tea’s safe to drink. I’m not pulling any sort of con, but I doubt it would work if I poisoned his little brother.”

Robin seems to consider this, then, apparently satisfied with the explanation, takes a sip of the mint tea. Shafeeq doesn’t miss the way his body relaxes slightly as he drinks it, and Shafeeq can feel the edge of his mouth twitch upward for a moment.

“You may not trust me as an ally or partner or whatever it is you call people like me,” Shafeeq looks at Robin with a hopeful expression, trying to keep his overwhelming concern out of his body language. “But considering I patched up Red Robin earlier, and the fact that I’ve been able to keep Nightwing alive for the past several months, do you think you could trust me as a medical professional?”

Robin fixes him with a wary stare, but says, “Perhaps.”

“Alright. Then in my professional opinion, you need to rest instead of… well, whatever it is you’re all doing in Blüdhaven. Honestly, I don’t think  _ Nightwing _ should be going back out there, but Red Hood promised to keep an eye on him for me,” Shafeeq furrows his brows, realizing something as he mutters, “Of course, there’s a ninety percent chance he’s got about the same amount of self-preservation as the rest of you, which… is less than ideal…”

It could be Shafeeq’s imagination, but he’s almost  _ positive _ he sees the corner of Robin’s mouth twitch upward.  _ Score one for the nurse man. _

“A job like this requires all hands on deck,” Robin argues, but Shafeeq can hear the fight slowly ebbing from his voice. “And with Red Robin recovering--”

“And you sick, it’ll be up to the others to deal with it. They’re adults, and they have training. I’m sure they can handle it, kiddo.”

“He’s right, Robin,” Dick says, now wearing his spare costume. Shafeeq can see the slightly raised areas on his back where the gauze covering the road rash is, and it makes Shafeeq’s skin prickle with worry. “Hood and I have got this. We’ll call if we need anything.”

Robin looks ready to continue arguing, but before he can get any words out, he starts coughing, a disgusting wet sort of sound that instantly has Shafeeq on high alert as if he hadn’t been before, as if he wasn’t  _ always _ on alert while patching up an injured Nightwing. Shafeeq carefully places a hand on the young vigilante’s back, rubbing in soothing circles and giving soft words of encouragement as Robin tries to clear whatever it is that’s made its home in his lungs.

“I don’t think he’s in a good condition to go home alone, ‘Wing,” Shafeeq says quietly after the coughing subsides, “If it’s okay with you, I want him rest here until someone’s available to pick him up.”

“I am not a child in need of  _ coddling _ , Jasín,” Robin snaps, but he sounds worse than he did before, and his petulance has Shafeeq crossing his arms and giving the kid a pretty stern look.

“No, but you  _ are _ a child who is  _ sick _ and currently sitting in the apartment of a registered nurse. It’s against my code of ethics to let you back out there in your current condition, and since you’re  _ legally _ unable to make medical decisions on your own, I’m deferring to your older brother.”

“Who  _ agrees _ with the nurse,” Dick says, and Shafeeq nods. Robin looks  _ outraged _ , and Shafeeq is worried he may have just crossed a line or two.

“Look,” Shafeeq lowers his voice, “Dick’s…  _ talked _ about you once or twice. Nothing in-depth, don’t worry, but I  _ do _ know you have issues trusting people and that you’re pretty dang independent. I understand, but I can’t, in good conscience, let you back out there. If Dick was sick, I’d be telling him the same thing.”

Robin stares at Shafeeq apprehensively, the younger boy’s gaze flicking between the nurse and his older brother for several moments before he takes a large sniff and huffs.

“Fine. But I refuse to sleep on the couch.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, little bird. Now go get some rest, and if you try to sneak out, I’ll know. I plan on staying up until whatever’s going on is done with.”

That earns an unreadable look from Dick, something almost like concern tinged with various other emotions that Shafeeq doesn’t feel like reading into at the moment, instead standing up to usher the young boy to the bedroom. 

By the time he gets back to the living room, Nightwing is already gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY this chap has been a long time coming dhsbfhsdj sorry for the wait folks
> 
> i hope you enjoy it!!

Shafeeq gets a call almost an hour later, and to both his surprise and slowly mounting worry, it’s not from Dick.

“Shafeeq Jasín?” the voice says over the phone, “This is Red Robin.”

“Red Robin?” Shafeeq stands from where he had been sitting on the couch, muting the already quiet television that he and Robin had been watching an animal documentary on. “What’s wrong? Where’s Di-- Nightwing?”

“Long story,” Tim grunts, and if Shafeeq wasn’t already on high alert, he would be now. “What’s your policy on house calls?”

“Whenever, wherever,” Shafeeq’s throat is too dry for the reply to sound humorous. “What’s wrong with Nightwing? And Red Hood?”

“Hood’s here. Nightwing’s…  _ not _ .”

“What do you  _ mean _ he’s  _ not _ ?”

“What happened?” Damian is suddenly sitting straight up, going from tense to  _ extremely alert _ in a matter of seconds. “Who’s not there?”

“I’ll explain in a second, Robin,” Shafeeq whispers away from the phone, then, returning to it, he repeats the question, “What do you mean he’s  _ not there _ ?”

“We were investigating something for a case that’s been fucking with Gotham and Blüdhaven,” Jason suddenly cuts in, and based on the faint shouting on the other end, Shafeeq can assume Tim didn’t hand over the communicator willingly. “We got jumped by the people we were investigating. Nightwing got nabbed, Red can’t walk, and there’s no way I can get us both to your place with my injuries, so for the love of  _ god _ , come and  _ get us _ .”

Shafeeq has to take a moment to remember to  _ breathe _ before responding, “Okay. Alright. I’ll be there soon. Where are you?”

“Little Red’s sending the address now. Be careful… we have no idea if anybody’s still here or not.”

“Right. Okay. Try not to move too much, and apply pressure to any wounds that are bleeding badly,” Shafeeq knows he probably doesn’t have to say all this to them, considering it’s fairly basic emergency first-aid stuff and Dick used to  _ suture his own wounds _ , but it gives him peace of mind. “I’m on my way now.”

With that, Shafeeq hangs up before turning to look directly at Damian, whose expression has shifted to some strange mix between  _ concern _ and  _ unbridled rage _ , which Shafeeq can only hope isn’t directed towards him.

“Dick’s missing,” Shafeeq starts, ripping to proverbial band-aid off, “And Tim and Jason are hurt. I have to go take care of them and get them back here.”

“I will help you,” Damian says matter-of-factly, still sounding… well, not  _ good _ . “You will need assistance if something happens.”

“You are  _ not _ coming,” Shafeeq says, pulling on his black jacket, probably the darkest piece of not-fancy and not-scrubs clothing he owns. “You’re  _ sick _ , remember?”

“I can still  _ fight _ !”

“The answer’s  _ no _ , Damian. That’s final,” Shafeeq says, sighing slightly and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know you’re worried, but I’m pretty sure I’m already going to be dealing with two injured vigilantes making their injuries worse, I  _ don’t _ need a third one getting more sick than he already is. I only have one bedroom.”

Damian honest-to-goodness  _ pouts _ , and Shafeeq can’t help but sigh again. 

“Just…  _ stay here _ , okay? I’ll bring your brothers back in one piece, and then we’ll figure out the Dick situation together, alright?”

Damian glares at Shafeeq, but then, begrudgingly says, “ _ Fine _ . But once you return, I  _ will _ go out to rescue Richard with you. Understood?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Shafeeq lies, grabbing his car keys. “Keep the window unlocked, and if Dick ends up coming back, call me. My number’s--”

Shafeeq is interrupted by Damian pulling down on his jacket sleeve, which would be cute under different circumstances. When Shafeeq looks down, Damian is pulling something out of his utility belt, and as he offers it to Shafeeq, the nurse can’t help but blink.

“If our enemies discover who you are,” Damian explains as Shafeeq takes the simple domino mask, “Then we are all at risk. Richard especially. My family… they are important to me.”

Shafeeq’s expression softens. “Yeah, I understand. I can’t promise to keep bad things from happening, but I can at least promise to be there to do damage control.”

Damian nods, seemingly satisfied. Shafeeq carefully places the domino on his face, and while it doesn’t  _ quite _ fit as well as Robin or Nightwing’s masks, it stays on his face, which means he’s good to go.

Shafeeq can only hope he isn’t too late.

\---

The drive back to Shafeeq’s apartment is filled with a tense silence, one only broken by the occasional soft groan of discomfort or pain, primarily from the older of the two men. Shafeeq’s entire body is rigid to the point where it’s almost a mental debate on what will crack first: the steering wheel or Shafeeq’s jaw.

“You two really don’t know where they would’ve taken him?” Shafeeq asks in an attempt to keep it from being the latter. His voice is that unnatural, forced kind of calm that probably isn’t doing much to soothe his patients’ nerves.

“We have a few ideas, but nothing concrete,” Red Robin grunts quietly, shifting in the backseat slightly. He’s trying to give Red Hood more room to recline, which is hard to do considering they’re currently in the tiny little four-door Shafeeq’s parents had gotten him when he first moved out despite Shafeeq’s protests about not driving much.

Shafeeq takes a shaky breath. “Right. Okay, next question: who  _ are _ they?”

“False Face Society,” Red Hood answers this time, his voice thick with pain. “Gang run by Black Mask. They were struggling for a while after I came to town, but they—  _ ow _ — they recently had an explosion in membership. B didn’t think it was natural--”

“So he had everybody looking into it. Makes sense, but what do they want with Dick?”

“Leverage, probably--  _ Ow! _ What the hell, kid?” Jason hisses to his younger brother, who had kicked him in the shin. Shafeeq casts a weary glance into the rearview mirror.

“This is  _ need-to-know _ , and  _ he _ doesn’t need to know!” Tim hisses back, as if Shafeeq isn’t even in the car with them. 

They begin to argue, switching from English into some sort of code that Shafeeq is too frazzled to even  _ try _ to think about learning to decipher for a future date. It reaches a head as they stopped at an empty intersection, waiting for the light to turn green again. The red light bathes Shafeeq’s tense features in a way that probably paints him rather sinisterly, which, under most circumstances, he would try to  _ avoid _ , but as the yelling begins to edge into “moving and making their wounds worse” territory, Shafeeq slams his hand on the steering wheel, turning his head  _ just _ enough to see them out of the corner of his eye.

“If you two don’t  _ be quiet _ and  _ stop moving _ ,” Shafeeq growls, “I will drop you off at an  _ actual _ clinic and go looking for Dick  _ myself _ , got it?”

Silence passes over the car, the two backseat occupants staring almost owlishly at the nurse for several moments before shifting back to their previous positions, Tim squeezing himself against his side of the car to give Jason a bit more room to stretch himself out.

“Thank you,” Shafeeq breathes quietly, turning back around just in time for the light to turn green. After crossing the intersection, he adds, “Any idea where they may be keeping him? Or is it a guessing game until demands are made?”

Tim and Jason exchange a look, and Jason throws his hands up in the air exasperatedly, apparently allowing Tim to take the reins. 

“Mr. Jasín--”

“Shafeeq.”

“ _ Shafeeq _ ,” Tim tries again, “We know how involved you are with keeping Dick safe, and we appreciate it, really, but this sort of thing… It’s not really your wheelhouse.”

“You wanna hear a fun fact about me, Tim?” Shafeeq’s grip somehow manages to tighten even further on the steering wheel as he speaks. “I went to Gotham for nursing school. Nothing else. I spent four years there for schooling and experience, got my degree, got my license, and came back here so I could get a job and start helping Nightwing. 

“I’m  _ legally _ not allowed to suture people in the emergency department, much less run a clinic for vigilantes.  _ Nothing _ I do is ‘in my wheelhouse’, and frankly, I don’t  _ care _ , so I’m going to ask again: Where do you think they’d be holding him? Or is it a guessing game?”

Again, Shafeeq’s words are met with wide eyes. Evidently, Dick hadn’t explained to them just how  _ deep _ the shit Shafeeq is in is. Or maybe he had, and they hadn’t believed him. Either way, the pair look at each other again. 

“You have a plan for going in there?” Jason asks, “Or are you gonna try to go into things half-cocked and get yourself killed?”

Shafeeq takes a deep, steadying breath. That’s a good sign, hopefully. “Dick gave me an emergency beacon a while back. I figure I get there, find where he is, and activate it to get some help.”

“Pretty solid plan. If you can pull it off, at least.”

“Well, whether I pull off the stealth or not, the beacon’s gonna get pressed. May as well try and get Dick saved along the way.”

“Okay. So, say it works,” Tim says, “You rescue Dick, get him back home, whatever. What’s to stop them from hunting you down and giving you a beat-down?”

Shafeeq shrugs, pulling into the small underground parking garage connected to his apartment building. “Can’t make an omelette without cracking a few eggs.”

The two vigilantes in the backseat exchange another glance as Shafeeq pulls into a space as close to elevators as he can get. Shafeeq turns off the car before getting out and slowly helping the other two exit the vehicle, pulling Jason up into a half-carry as Tim limps next to them.

“Robin’s still up in my apartment,  _ and _ he’s still sick, just to warn you.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Jason says, grunting as they shift so Shafeeq can press the elevator button. “God, he’s gonna mother-hen the  _ fuck _ out of us, isn’t he?”

“Probably,” Tim mutters, “He’s as bad as Leslie.”

“Really?” Shafeeq says as the elevator doors open, the three men entering it. Jason’s jaw clenches with each step. “If that’s the case, maybe he’ll be too busy keeping an eye on you two to try and help me find Dick.”

“Maybe… Listen, Shafeeq, are you sure you’ll be okay?” Tim asks, leaning against the wall of the elevator. Shafeeq tries to ignore the fact that Tim has just leaned up against a wall that is probably  _ full _ of bad germs. “These guys aren’t a joke, and if Dick’s really been  _ captured _ by them--”

“Don’t worry,” Shafeeq says as the elevator reaches his floor, “I know what I’m doing.”

\---

Shafeeq has no idea what he’s doing.

Honestly, what had he been  _ thinking _ , doing something like this? Tim and Jason were right. He’s just a  _ nurse _ . Sure, maybe all the shady medical stuff is a bit out there, but at least he’s been  _ trained _ to do that. Sneaking around, trying to track down a lost vigilante?  _ Completely _ out of his league. He’s fairly certain Tim, Jason, and Damian only let Shafeeq go out on his own because they were all too injured or sick to go themselves, or even stop him. 

If they both live through this, Dick is going to owe Shafeeq  _ big-time _ , not that Shafeeq will mention it. Though, the nurse  _ does _ feel like he’s owed a bit of vacation, if he’s honest.

He quickly ducks back behind the stack of boxes he’s been crouched behind for the past several minutes, trying to keep the rising fear from getting the better of him. He had overheard a couple of the masked goons talking about the main warehouse floor, and some sort of “demonstration” to be had there, special guest and all. It doesn’t take Batman to figure out what that probably means.

His hunch is confirmed true when he hears a set of doors slam open, the distant sound of struggling making Shafeeq’s stomach sink. He cautiously peers around the corner of his hiding spot, his thumb gently rubbing over the button on his emergency beacon. He nearly presses it when he watches the scene as it unfolds before him.

The man holding Nightwing is unimportant, another masked guy with enough muscles that it makes Shafeeq wonder how many of these people are on some kind of steroids, or maybe an altered strain of that Venom drug. The man walking just behind Nightwing and his captor, however, is the one who grabs Shafeeq’s attention.

Unlike the other masked people, this one’s mask seems to envelop his entire head, blending almost  _ seamlessly _ into the skin of his neck. He wears a too-nice, too-white suit with a black tie. The way he walks commands attention is almost to the point where Shafeeq would guess he’s trying to compensate for something.

Based on what he learned about the Gotham criminal world while living there, as well as what Tim and the others had told him, Shafeeq can only guess one thing: This man is Roman Sionis. Black Mask himself.

And  _ that _ is a  _ very _ bad thing. Shafeeq’s thumb hovers the button on the beacon.

He stays hidden as best he can as he watches Dick be shoved into a wooden chair, still struggling, but with that cocky smile and quippy dialogue that Shafeeq has come to find both endearing and _endlessly_ frustration, because all that stuff serves to do is piss off these people more, which usually ends up giving Shafeeq _more_ _work_ , which means _more injuries_ on Dick.

This time is no exception, because Black Mask tells his men to leave the  _ huge _ warehouse floor, and as soon as the two are “alone”, Mask begins with a hard gut-punch to the tied-up vigilante. Nightwing grunts, his expression switching to something more  _ cold _ , more  _ angry _ . It sends a shiver down Shafeeq’s spine. 

“I was going to ransom you, ya know,” Black Mask says with more bravado than a bastard like him should be allowed to have. “But since you broke a lot of my men, and said some  _ pretty  _ shitty things, well… Looks like a  _ regular _ kind of example will have to work, huh?”

Shafeeq’s blood turns to ice as Black Mask produces a gun from the interior of his suit jacket, and Shafeeq, despite his distance away, swears he can see Dick’s eyes widen in fear as the gun is aimed between his eyes.

Shafeeq only realizes that he’s moved once he picks up a random lead pipe from the floor, but he doesn’t stop there. Instead, he lets out a loud shout, which causes the crime boss to completely turn away from Nightwing in confusion. Before he or the hero can react, Shafeeq is close enough to let the pipe be brought back before he _swings it_ _as hard as he can_ against the side of Black Mask’s head.

The criminal crumples almost instantly, groaning in pain. Shafeeq kicks him in the face, just once, and the groaning stops. His breathing doesn’t, thank goodness, because Shafeeq isn’t sure  _ how _ he would be able to deal with accidentally killing a man while trying to rescue his friend. 

Speaking of, Dick is just sitting there, staring at Shafeeq with wide eyes and blinking rapidly, like his brain is trying to reboot. Shafeeq offers him an awkward smile.

“Hey,” the nurse says, moving behind Dick to undo his bindings— rope, as if Nightwing doesn’t know how to get out of that the moment anybody looks away— and moving back to Dick’s front side to do a quick assessment of the vigilante’s injuries. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” Dick says, trying for a reassuring smile as he rubs his wrists. “How’d you find me?”

“A couple of little birds told me where they might’ve taken you, figured it couldn’t hurt to check,” Shafeeq gently presses his hand against the spot Black Mask had punched, pulling away when Dick hisses at the touch. “You’ll probably need an ice bath once we get back, and I’ll need to keep an eye on your abdomen for any signs of internal bleeding.”

“Sounds good to me, nurse-man,” Dick says, standing with a bit of help from Shafeeq, who ends up pulling him into a half-carry. “Let’s get out of here before the rest of his people realize something’s--”

The doors on all sides of them slam open, masked people pouring onto the warehouse floor with their guns raised at the two men. Shafeeq is suddenly  _ very _ thankful for the fact that he’s wearing the spare domino mask that Damian gave him earlier.

“Might be a bit late for that, ‘Wing,” Shafeeq says quietly, slowly and discreetly sliding his hand into his pocket once more, using his thumb to  _ finally _ press the button on the emergency beacon. “Help’s coming, got a plan until then?”

Dick just smiles wide. “Don’t need one.”

“Wha--  _ Nightwing they have guns pointed at us _ .”

“Don’t  _ worry _ . I have a feeling that our backup will be here…  _ in a flash _ .”

As if on cue, a blur of red and silver rushes through the warehouse, the gust of wind accompanying it almost causing Shafeeq to lose his balance. It only takes a few moments for the gun-toting goons to hit the ground, their guns all ending up in a pile on the other side of the warehouse floor. The blur stops moving, standing just a few feet away to observe his handiwork before turning to look at Shafeeq and Dick.

His costume is red with silver accents, including the lightning bolt and circle symbol on his chest. His hair is exposed, revealing a messy head of ginger hair. His eyes are like a pair of bright emeralds, as cliche as that sounds, which only seem to grow brighter as he looks at Dick.

Dick’s smile doesn’t falter for a moment as he says, “Hey Flash.”

“Hey Nightwing,” The Flash, The fucking  _ Flash _ , replies, returning the smile. Then, his eyes hit Shafeeq, and he arches a single brow. Then, recognition seems to flicker in his eyes. “Wait a second, is this that nurse guy you told us about? The one who makes eggs and coffee for you?”

Shafeeq blinks, giving a quick glance to Nightwing before saying, “Uh, yeah. That’s me. My name is Shafeeq--”

“Shafeeq Jasín, you work at Rabe Memorial.”

“How di-- Nightwing told you all that?”

“I’m right here, guys--” Dick tries to cut in, but they ignore him.

“Yeah. He also said if we ever need non-hospital medical help, you’re the guy to go to.”

“ _ Really _ ?”

“Absolutely. I mean, you have to be pretty good if you keep  _ him _ alive every other day.”

“Wow,” Shafeeq says, not sure whether to be flattered by the fact that Dick told his hero friends about him or annoyed that Dick had potentially increased his workload without  _ mentioning _ it to him. “That’s… Wow.”

“I’m sure it is,” Flash grins at him, then, glancing over at Dick, frowns again. “How bad--”

“Injuries seem to mostly be blunt trauma to various parts of his body, but I haven’t had the chance to do a proper examination. Like I told him: he’ll need an ice bath and close monitoring for any signs of internal bleeding.”

The Flash nods, apparently satisfied with Shafeeq’s assessment, and then says, “Alright. I can go ahead and get him to League headquarters so we can get started on treating him.”

Shafeeq blinks. “I’m--  _ What _ ?”

Okay. So maybe it’s stupid for Shafeeq to feel a flash of selfish anger at the fact that the Justice League, who have  _ actual properly-licensed medical staff _ and  _ cutting-edge medical technology _ , wanted to take care of Dick instead of letting Shafeeq do his thing, but Shafeeq can’t help it. Flash seems to pick up on that pretty quickly, if the grimace he gives Shafeeq is anything to go by.

“Sorry, Shafeeq. League rules. When an emergency beacon gets activated, we have to be the ones to patch up our people.”

Shafeeq knows, logically, that it makes sense. But considering he’s still riding the adrenaline high from knocking out a pretty well-known crime boss without even getting  _ shot _ , logic isn’t a very loud part of his brain right now.

“But-- I already have Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin back at my apartment. They’re worried about their brother. Can’t we at least just… take him there for a second? Just so they know he’s okay?”

“Batman messaged me a bit before the beacon was activated. Said he picked up the others already.”

And hadn’t even bothered to mention it to Shafeeq, evidently. The nurse takes a deep breath through his nose before letting it go, saying, “Okay. Alright. I take it there’s no chance of me getting to go to your HQ to keep an eye on him?”

“Sorry. A lot of heroes in the League are wary enough of other heroes, bringing a mostly unknown civilian up, cleared by Nightwing or not, would probably cause an implosion,” Flash places a hand on Shafeeq’s shoulder, using his other arm to take Dick from Shafeeq’s hold. “I really am sorry. I know he’s your patient and all--”

“Just… keep me updated, okay?” Shafeeq says, trying to keep the disappointment from showing too much on his face. His cousins had always told him he looks like a kicked puppy when he’s disappointed. “And let me know when he’s cleared to come back. I want to make sure I have everything ready.”

Flash nods. “Of course.”

“Try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone, nurse-man,” Dick says with a crooked smile, and Shafeeq can’t help but let his lips curve upward slightly. “I won’t be able to save you if you step into something.”

“You’re taking all the trouble with you, circus boy. I think I’ll be fine.”

Flash gives Shafeeq what he  _ thinks _ is an approving smile before pressing two fingers to one of his little ear-bolt things. “Flash Three to Watchtower. Table for two in the medbay, please.”

Before Shafeeq can even blink, the two heroes are gone in a flash of light, leaving Shafeeq alone in the warehouse full of unconscious criminals. 

He should probably get out of there before the cops show up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of role reversal here and this chapter, as well as a bit of a surprise at the very end! i hope y'all enjoy!

Shafeeq can’t sleep, and if he’s honest, there are several reasons for it: a killer headache, a  _ freezing _ cold room, an upset stomach, and the fact that his internal clock is wacked out are just a few of them, but they’re probably the biggest.

Well, that and the fact that it’s been almost two weeks since the last time he saw Dick. That may have something to do with it.

Okay, so maybe it isn’t as bad as it could be. The redheaded Flash had made good on his promise to keep Shafeeq updated, texting the nurse about Nightwing’s condition as he recovered in their headquarters. Shafeeq stopped questioning how Flash even  _ got _ his number after the second day of waiting for Nightwing to be cleared for duty again.

Of course, Flash couldn’t be there with Dick  _ every _ moment along the way, which meant for the past several days, Shafeeq’s heard  _ nothing _ about his friend’s condition. Logically, he knows Dick’s fine, that his injuries aren’t  _ that _ bad and he’s probably just on forced bedrest (something Shafeeq would’ve done, too), but logic very rarely wins out against his worries in situations like this.

Shafeeq glances over at his alarm clock, reading the soft blue numbers for the millionth time that night.  _ 3:34 AM _ .

Shafeeq groans, turning over in his bed so that he’s facedown in his pillows. Work is going to be  _ hell _ later, and he doesn’t have it in him to fake being sick to get out of it, especially since he’s working to cover Kendall’s shift in med-surge while they go to their dad’s funeral. 

Shafeeq huffs into his pillows before turning onto his back once more, glaring up at the popcorn ceiling, as if it were to blame for all his woes. Maybe it is. Shafeeq could honestly believe most things at this point in his life, and he knows he hasn’t even  _ begun _ to scratch the surface of weird superhero crap, if Dick’s stories are anything to go on. 

That’s when someone knocks at the door.

The hairs on the back of Shafeeq’s neck stand up, his heart suddenly racing in his chest as he practically shoots out of bed, his rumpled covers falling away from his half-clothed form. Normally, he wouldn’t think twice about answering the door in nothing but his Green Lantern pajama pants, but after the recent events in his life, he can’t help but keep a tight grip on his emergency beacon as he peers through the peephole.

He is greeted by an uncomfortable-looking Dick Grayson glancing up and down the hall, and Shafeeq opens the door faster than he ever has before, and before Dick can say anything, Shafeeq pulls him inside, slamming and locking the door behind them.

“Richard. John. Grayson,” Shafeeq says, slowly turning to look at the vigilante. “Where on  _ Earth _ have you been?”

“Uh,” Dick coughs awkwardly into his fist, and Shafeeq can feel his blood pressure rising. “How mad would you be if I said ‘I wasn’t on Earth’?”

“ _ What _ ?”

“As soon as I was discharged, the Titans were needed off-world. So we… went off-world.”

“Dick.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t saying your name,” Shafeeq says, crossing his arms and making a mental reminder to pay the jar later. “I was calling you a dick.”

“Listen, I meant to call you, hell, I meant to call the  _ League _ , but once we got there, we couldn’t get any signals back to Earth for a few days. By the time we  _ could _ , things were so hectic, I just… forgot. I’m sorry.”

Shafeeq just stares at Dick for several moments, eventually coming to the conclusion that he is probably  _ also  _ being a jerk in this situation, given the circumstances. He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. 

“No,  _ I’m _ sorry. I-- You were dealing with bigger things. I get it.”

“Hey, I’d be pretty worried too if one of my friends went radio silent for two weeks after being taken somewhere else for medical treatment,” Dick’s brow furrows as he looks Shafeeq up and down, then he adds “Speaking of worry, are you okay? You don’t look so hot.”

“I’m fine,” Shafeeq lies, “Just… tired.”

Dick leans forward a bit, placing the back of his hand on Shafeeq’s forehead and frowning. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“Yesterday night.”

“Okay,” Dick pulls his hand away, now crossing  _ his _ arms. “Two questions: how  _ long _ did you sleep, and do you have a thermometer around here?”

“Top drawer in the medicine drawers. The  _ legal _ ones.” 

Shafeeq dodges the first question, which _ of course _ Dick picks up on, because it’s painfully obvious. Shafeeq wants to smack himself, but not before sitting down. Sitting down sounds like a very good idea, considering his stomach lurches again when he briefly considers offering to make some coffee for the two of them. 

He sits down onto the couch, gripping the edge as he squeezes his eyes shut, focusing every ounce of energy on  _ not _ losing what little bit he had to eat the night before. He’s still doing that when Dick re-enters the room, temporal thermometer in hand. It had been pricey, but Shafeeq knows it’s worth it. 

Case and point, it’s only a few seconds before the device beeps, and the moment Dick reads the display, he lets out a quiet sigh.

“Hundred point five,” Dick announces, “And probably rising.”

Shafeeq shivers. His head throbs. His stomach squeezes. 

“I feel fine,” the nurse says, “And I have work today.”

“They’ll send you home the moment you step through those doors. Besides, do you  _ really _ want to risk getting your patients sick?”

Shafeeq pauses. He hadn’t really thought about that. Before he can say anything in his defense, he becomes  _ very _ aware of the fact that his stomach is about to empty its contents all over his coffee table. He barely makes it to the nearest trash can-- the one by the entrance to his kitchen area-- before doing just that. After a few minutes of upheaving everything he had eaten that night and then some, he figures he probably looks like that one picture he has of his friend Jun from back in college, leaning up against the trash can dramatically, probably regretting every decision he’s made ever. 

As he dry-heaves again, he feels a gentle hand against his back, rubbing soothing circles into it. Shafeeq shivers, the cold hand making his heated skin burst out into goosebumps, which is strange, considering how Shafeeq is  _ already _ cold. Stupid fever.

A glass of water appears in his field of vision, along with a very concerned-looking Dick Grayson. The hand keeps its place on Shafeeq’s back as the nurse takes the glass, taking small sips of the  _ oh so cold _ drink, silently praying that he’s able to keep it down. 

“Thanks,” Shafeeq finally manages to croak out, “Sorry… Sorry you had to see that.”

“No problem,” Dick says, so  _ quiet _ and  _ warm _ , “Want me to call up the hospital and let them know you’re not going to be able to make it tonight?”

“Call them, then… then put me on. I have to be the one to call out.”

“Gotcha.”

Shafeeq stays draped over his now very gross-smelling trash can as Dick pulls out his cell phone. Shafeeq supplies him with the central staffing number, and the nurse actually manages to not sound like death itself as he calls out, apologizing profusely for how last minute it is. Sandra doesn’t seem to mind it. She’s probably Shafeeq’s favorite employee in central staffing. Always nice and polite, even when Shafeeq is having to call out at the very last second.

When he’s done, Dick squats down next to Shafeeq, putting all his weight on the tips of his feet. Dick presses his hand against Shafeeq’s forehead again, frowning again. 

“It’s definitely gotten worse. Think you can make it back to your room?”

Shafeeq nods slowly, attempting to press against the section of the breakfast bar and get to his feet, but the entire room spins as does. Dick is there almost instantly, helping pull Shafeeq up and steadying him. That’s Nightwing for you, always reliable. Well,  _ usually _ reliable.

“Easy there, nurse-man,” Dick says with a slight laugh, carefully pulling Shafeeq into something closer to a half-carry. “Huh. Kinda weird to be on the other side of this with you.”

Shafeeq tries to mutter out some kind of witty retort, like “that makes two of us” or “yeah, I can see why”, but all that he can manage is half-hearted grumbling. That earns a slight laugh from Dick as they cross the threshold back into Shafeeq’s bedroom. 

Shafeeq, if he’s honest, is definitely starting to feel even worse than before. He’s at that awful point where he’s so cold he’s shivering, but any amount of warmth makes him sweaty and uncomfortable. Unfortunately, Dick is  _ very _ warm, so as soon as he’s able to, he dumps himself back into his bed, slowly shifting to face Dick, who has the thermometer in his hands once more. Shafeeq… isn’t sure when Dick had time to grab it, so that’s not a good sign.

Dick takes his temperature again, the device beeping after a few seconds. Dick frowns again, his eyes flicking between the nurse and the device with worry.

“Hundred and one. It’s rising pretty quickly.”

“That’s not ideal.”

“No,” Dick’s brow furrows, and Shafeeq can see the gears turning in the vigilante’s mind. “It’s not.”

“What’re you thinking, Dick?” Shafeeq asks, sitting up slightly. Dick presses a hand to his shoulder, forcing the nurse to lay back down.

“I’m gonna shift into ‘paranoid vigilante’ mode for a sec,” Dick sits on the edge of Shafeeq’s bed, making direct eye contact with Shafeeq as he asks, “Is there  _ any _ chance someone could’ve poisoned you recently? Within the last day or so?”

Shafeeq has to think for a moment, but he eventually shakes his head and says, “No.”

“You haven’t gotten coffee from a Starbucks or whatever?”

“Not in the past couple of days.”

“And you’re  _ sure _ nobody but you has been in your apartment in that time--”

“ _ Dick _ ,” Shafeeq says firmly, “I wasn’t  _ poisoned _ .”

He’s… fairly sure he wasn’t poisoned. 

Though, Dick probably knows more about poisons than Shafeeq does, considering that, while he knows how to treat patients who have  _ accidentally _ ingested something harmful, or purposefully in some cases, actual  _ poisons _ weren’t exactly covered in nursing school. They rarely even came up at any of the clinics he worked at in Gotham, though that was mostly because most of the poisons people used in Gotham did their job so fast, there was never any  _ time _ to get them to a clinic. Or usually landed them in an  _ actual _ emergency room.

Dick regards him critically, eyes scanning up and down Shafeeq’s face and uncovered torso. Then, he sighs.

“You’re probably right. But-- God I hate it when I sound like him-- For my own peace of mind, I want to take a blood sample. Is that okay?”

Shafeeq doesn’t ask who Dick is referring to, because he  _ knows _ , but he raises an eyebrow at the vigilante’s request. Even with a fever and feeling like shit, he knows that’s an odd request.    
  
But, for Dick’s peace of mind, Shafeeq says, “Sure. You know where my stuff is, although knowing you people, you probably have some fancy thing that’ll automatically tell you what’s up with my blood.”

Dick nods, leaving Shafeeq unsure about which part of his statement he was nodding about as he exits the room. Shafeeq stares up at the ceiling once more, his entire body seemingly on a mission to make him as uncomfortable as possible. But even the discomfort of a fever rarely ever won out over exhaustion for Shafeeq, so his eyelids slowly slide shut, and he lets darkness claim him.

\---

When he wakes up again, it’s because of Dick’s very loud and jarring ringtone. It takes Shafeeq several moments to recognize the tune, a feat made that much harder when Dick quietly swears and answers his phone. 

“Hey Roy, listen, can I call you back? Now’s really not a good time,” He says in a hushed tone, “No, I’m not on a stakeout or mission, I’m at a friend’s place… He’s sick… Yeah, it’s that friend… No it’s not poison, I checked--”

That earns a snort from Shafeeq, an action he instantly regrets, because it not only draw’s Dick’s attention, but because it starts a wave of nausea that forces Shafeeq over towards the side of the bed. Dick a trash can over towards the nurse just in time to catch the stomach acid he hurls up. 

“Yeah, I’m definitely gonna have to call you ba-- Yeah, it looks as bad as it sounds… Yeah, I’ll call you later. Bye Roy.”

Dick hangs up, and Shafeeq continues to dry-heave until his stomach finally gives up on trying to completely escape his body and gives him a moment of reprieve long enough to look up at Dick, who’s moved closer and placed a hand on the nurse’s back once more.

Then, weakly, he asks, “Is your ringtone for Roy Tik Tok by Kesha?”

Dick smiles. “It’s actually my ringtone for all the original Teen Titans.”

“Nice,” Shafeeq says, laughing slightly despite feeling even worse than he did before falling asleep. There’s soft rays of light peeking in through the blinds of his room now, and Shafeeq squints as he asks, “What time is it?”

“Almost noon. I was gonna ask if you felt up for some food, but I think it’s just gonna be Gatorade and saltines for now.”

Even thinking about eating  _ those _ makes Shafeeq’s stomach slosh uncomfortably. He must show it, because Dick gives him a sympathetic look and says, “Sorry nurse-man. You and I both know we gotta try to get something in you, at least for a little bit.”

Shafeeq sighs, sitting up slowly in an attempt to not make anything worse. He hates being sick. He  _ hates _ it. 

Dick disappears from his room for a few minutes, giving Shafeeq enough time to lean his head back against the wall, his eyes sliding shut as the A/C in his apartment kicks on, cooling his sweaty, overheated skin. He doesn’t even notice when Dick returns until the other man places a cold hand carefully on his shoulder, causing the nurse to flinch and open his eyes at the sudden chill. 

“Here,” Dick carefully presses a room temperature bottle of lime green Gatorade into Shafeeq’s grip, “Take small sips. If you can hold that down for an hour, we’ll try the saltines, okay?”

“I’m not a kid, Dick,” Shafeeq mutters, taking a small sip of his drink, “You don’t have to talk to me like one.”

“Sorry. Eldest brother. Kind of a habit.”

“Mhm,” Shafeeq leans his head back against the wall, keeping his breathing as even as possible. He sees Dick move the trash can slightly closer to the bed, which earns a slight laugh from the nurse.

“Alright, annoying question incoming: How’re you feeling?”

“Hot. Sweaty. Gross,” Shafeeq pauses for a moment, letting his stomach settle before continuing, “And I have a headache the size of Texas.”

“That bad, huh? Well, at least it’s not the size of Alaska.”

Shafeeq snorts. “Small mercies.” 

“Yeah,” Dick says, his smile faltering a bit. He brings a hand up to Shafeeq’s face, causing him to shiver slightly as Dick carefully brushes the hair up and away from where it was stuck on his forehead before just resting there, using his calloused thumb to gently rub Shafeeq’s forehead. The cool, light pressure feels nice, but also horrible at the same time.

It almost reminds Shafeeq of how it feels to be Nightwing’s nurse while also being Dick’s friend. There was the constant worry and stress that probably isn’t good Shafeeq’s health, but with it came the pure and utter pride and joy of knowing that he’s probably helping save  _ lives _ .

Plus, Dick’s a pretty good friend, though Shafeeq isn’t sure if that’s more of a blessing or a curse. 

Shafeeq isn’t even aware his eyes have shut again until Dick nudges him slightly, startling him awake. He can’t help but spare a glance towards Dick, wondering just how much time has passed. Dick catches on pretty quickly. 

“It’s only been an hour and a half,” he says, “Don’t worry.”

Shafeeq doesn’t. 

At least, he doesn’t until Dick holds out a bowl of saltines. Shafeeq scrunches his nose at it, and Dick gives him an exasperated look that Shafeeq is  _ fairly _ sure he’s usually on the other end of.

“Shafeeq--”

“I know,” Shafeeq mumbles, his head pounding and stomach churning. Then, he adds softly, “I don’t think I can keep it down, Dick.”

“We gotta at least try.”

Shafeeq  _ knows _ that, he’s a  _ nurse _ for fuck’s sake, of course he knows that, but the thought of eating anything already had him queasy.  _ Actually _ eating… Shafeeq’s not sure he’ll be able to handle that. But, he  _ knows _ he has to try, so he takes one of the small crackers and nibbles at it. 

It’s hard for him to even swallow  _ that _ much, but he manages it. He manages to keep it down with steady breathing for almost a whole two minutes before it’s lost, and Shafeeq is hurling into the trashcan once again. He  _ hates _ being sick. 

His whole body is shaking with effort by the time he’s done, his skin chilled but too hot all at once as he just  _ lays _ there, unable to do much more than shift back onto the bed with his eyes shut.

Shafeeq feels Dick place his hand on the sick nurse’s forehead once again before gently carding his fingers through Shafeeq’s hair. He can’t help but melt under the soft contact. 

“On the bright side,” Dick says, and Shafeeq can hear the slight smile in his voice despite the concern, “At least we know liquids are okay.”

Shafeeq smiles slightly at that, but he’s too tired to make a proper reply, so he lets himself fall asleep once again.

\---

This time, when he wakes up, Dick  _ isn’t _ there, and that makes Shafeeq feel even more sick than before. It only gets worse when he glances at his alarm clock and sees the time.

_ 9:37 PM _

Dick usually starts his patrol as soon as the sun sets, which, at this time of year, isn’t until around eight, but regardless, it means Nightwing is probably  _ out there _ , and Shafeeq is in  _ no condition _ to help him if he gets injured. 

Shafeeq swings his legs over the side of his bed, ignoring the way it makes his entire body protest as he shakily stands. Has he mentioned how much he hates being sick? Because he hates it. He hates it  _ so _ much.

He has to lean against the wall for support as he walks out into his living area, more than ready to collapse onto the couch so that he can give Dick an earful once he gets back. However, the moment he steps into the area and sees that  _ not only _ Dick is still there, but that there is  _ another _ vigilante in his apartment, that plan kinda goes out the window.

It only takes him a second to recognize this one, the red outfit, ginger hair, and quiver full of arrows more-or-less instantly recognizable to anyone who’s ever lived in Star City for more than a week.

Red Arrow, formerly Arsenal, formerly Speedy (according to the rumors), is standing in his apartment and talking to Dick.

“I really appreciate this Roy,” Dick sounds sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “I know it’s last minute--”

“Hey, it’s no problem man,” Red Arrow--  _ Roy, the guy who called Dick earlier _ \-- replies, waving it off. “You covered for me when Lian was sick, only fair I return the favor.”

Dick lets out a slight laugh at that, glancing behind him for a moment, then doing a double-take when he sees Shafeeq. The nurse offers a weak wave.

“Shafeeq, you’re awake,” Dick says, and Roy follows his line of sight and locks eyes with Shafeeq. “Uh, how much--”

“Lips are sealed, ‘Wing,” Shafeeq says, ignoring how wrecked his voice sounds, “As far as anyone’s concerned, I didn’t see Red freakin’ Arrow in my apartment, and I totally don’t know your ringtone for him is a Kesha song.”

Roy and Dick both snort at that, and Shafeeq manages to give a shaky smile in return. He staggers forward, hoping to make it to the couch before his legs give out, but before he can even make it a step, his legs betray him. 

Dick’s there to catch him almost instantly, helping the nurse over to the couch and feeling his forehead. Dick frowns again. 

Roy walks back into view, also frowning as he says, “And you’re  _ sure _ he’s not poisoned?”

“According to him,” Dick says, standing and looking at Roy. “He’s just sick.”

“Sick,” Shafeeq mutters, “And right here.”

Dick gives him a Look that… probably means  _ something _ , but Shafeeq’s head is  _ pounding _ and his thoughts are dragged down by the annoying  _ heat _ constantly making itself known across his body, so he doesn’t have the energy to decipher it. 

Dick looks like he’s about to say something when his phone rings, the ringtone almost instantly recognizable to Shafeeq. 

“Imperial March. Let me guess… Bruce?”

“Yeah…,” Dick says with a sigh, his shoulders tensing. “I’ll be right back. Roy, do you mind--”

“Watching the plague victim for five minutes while you deal with the Bat? Not at all, but now you’re starting to owe  _ me _ .”

Dick rolls his eyes, the tension in his posture releasing somewhat. He exits out the window and onto the fire escape, closing the window behind him. It will always surprise Shafeeq how  _ well _ the window muffles sound.

He and Roy lock eyes again, and they just sit there in awkward silence for a minute or so before Roy looks back at the window and says, “Thanks.”

Shafeeq blinks. Is his fever so bad he’s started hallucinating? 

“What for?” Shafeeq asks, glancing to the window when he starts to actually  _ hear _ Dick’s voice rising. He still can’t decipher what’s being  _ said _ , but he can bet it’s not something happy.

“For taking care of Birdbrain out there,” Roy says, like it’s obvious. In hindsight, it kinda is, given the situation. “He, unfortunately, has that special hero trait of focusing so much on others that he forgets he’s--”

“A human being with human limitations?” 

“That’s the one, yeah.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that you don’t?”

“I didn’t say  _ that _ .”

Shafeeq chuckles, which is a mistake again, because he has to stop before he loses what little liquid he still has in his stomach. Roy takes a step forward, but Shafeeq holds up a hand, signaling him to stop. 

“I’m okay,” Shafeeq says once he manages to keep his innards  _ inside _ , “I  _ hate _ this.”

“Being sick?”

Shafeeq nods, but then, he sighs. There’s more to it than that. Sure, he hates how achy and weak and  _ gross _ he feels, but after hearing Dick shout a bit louder over the phone, he knows there’s more to it.

“I can’t…  _ help _ ,” Shafeeq says, the fever slowly muddling his thoughts again. “Not like this.”

Roy gives him a  _ look _ , like a “what are you talking about” look. Shafeeq sighs, unable to explain how  _ helpless _ he feels. He’s been held  _ hostage _ before, and he feels more helpless  _ now  _ than he ever did then.

Before Shafeeq can explain any of that, though, Dick crawls back through the window again, looking pretty sour. He turns to Roy and says, “Alright, you should probably go ahead and get out there, or I’m pretty sure B is gonna blow a gasket and come patrol the city  _ himself _ .”

Roy cringes. Shafeeq still doesn’t quite understand why heroes are so possessive of their cities, but he figures it’s in the same way that civilians are possessive of their heroes, or their sports teams. 

“See ya Dick,” Roy says with a wave, making his way to the window, “And you too, Shafeeq. I’ll try not to get banged up too bad tonight.” 

Dick nods, waving back. “See ya Roy, and thanks again, seriously.”

Roy nods, and with that, he’s off into the night, leaving Dick and Shafeeq alone in the nurse’s apartment once more. Dick sighs, turning to Shafeeq. Shafeeq offers him a smile.

“He seems cool.”

“You met him for less than like, ten minutes.”

“Yeah, but his color scheme is  _ red _ . Can’t go wrong with red.”

“I’m pretty sure the Lanterns would have to disagree with you there, bud,” Dick says, making his way over to the kitchen area. “I’m gonna try to make some soup for you, what kind do you want?”

Shafeeq furrows his brow. “I don’t have any soup.”

“Roy grabbed some on his way here. We have tomato, vegetable, and egg drop.”

“Tomato,” Shafeeq says, slowly standing, “I’m going to go lay down again.”

“Can you make it on your own?”

“Yeah,” Shafeeq says, but the world is starting to spin in a way that’s almost scary and he stumbles. “I…”

“Shafeeq? Shafeeq!”

Shafeeq manages to catch himself on his hands and knees, but he doesn’t manage to stop himself from vomiting again.

As Dick helps him back to his room, he can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to be a  _ long _ night.

\---

It takes one and half nights of restless sleep for Shafeeq’s fever to finally break.

He and Dick had been watching some Argentine movies Shafeeq’s father had given him when he moved out, and honestly, Shafeeq’s not sure when he fell asleep, but he is aware of the fact that he’s being  _ woken up _ by Dick gently shaking him. 

Shafeeq, who is currently resting his head in Dick’s lap, looks up at the smiling vigilante with confused, tired eyes.

“<What is it? Is everything okay?>” Shafeeq asks, his confusion only mounting when Dick makes a soft snorting noise. “<What?>”

“You’re speaking Spanish,” Dick explains, “Your accent’s off, though.”

Shafeeq rolls his eyes, lightly smacking Dick’s arm. “Screw you. Why’d you wake me up?”

“Just checked your temp again,” Dick reveals the thermometer, wiggling it slightly for emphasis. “You’re officially under ninety-nine degrees, and you’ve managed to keep down the soup, saltines, and Gatorade. Congrats, nurse-man, you’re officially no longer sick.”

“The hospital’s probably going to want me to stay home an extra day or so, just in case I’m still contagious. Speaking of…” Shafeeq slowly sits up, raising an eyebrow at Dick. “How’re you feeling?”

“Pretty good, actually. But if I get sick, you’ll be the second to know.”

“Second?”

“Alfred gets first dibs,” Dick shrugs when Shafeeq crosses his arms. “He brings me  _ really  _ good chicken noodle soup.”

“I could make really good chicken noodle soup if I wanted to.”

“Just because you can make good eggs doesn’t mean you’re an expert on chicken, Shafeeq,” Dick earns a face full of couch pillow for that remark. He laughs it off, declaring, “Okay, yeah, you’re definitely feeling better.”

“Sure am, circus boy, which means you can tell your friends that your city’s back in your hands again until you start getting sick.”

“ _ If _ I start getting sick. I happen to have a  _ very _ strong immune system.”

“Hm,” Shafeeq stands, a slight grin on his face. “Makes sense. You  _ did _ grow up in Gotham.”

“Yeah, in a  _ mansion _ .”

“While fighting crime on the streets at night, getting exposed to all sorts of nasty things. Polluted rain, sewer water, a fraudulent clown--”

It’s now Shafeeq’s turn to have a pillow in his face, Dick standing as he does. They’re both laughing, and honestly, Shafeeq feels  _ great _ . He’s definitely not sick anymore, but before he can celebrate any further, Dick’s phone rings. Kesha.

“Hey Roy, what’s up?” Dick asks as he answers the phone. Shafeeq raises an eyebrow, to which Dick replies with his index finger raised.  _ One moment _ . “More people displaying similar symptoms, huh? Find anything in the samples-- Oh.  _ Oh _ , okay… Yeah, sounds good. See ya there. Bye.”

“Alright,” Shafeeq crosses his arms as Dick hangs up. “Now that you’re off the phone, can I get an explanation?”

“After you got sick, Roy and I were pretty sure you were poisoned, so we did some digging--”

“I thought you said I  _ hadn’t _ been poisoned.”

“That’s what the scanner said, but then we remembered there are some toxins that are almost untraceable, even to the best technology we have. So, we did some digging, and it turns out that, starting on the day you got sick, there have been  _ dozens _ of similar cases ending up in various clinics and emergency rooms all over the city.”

“ _ Oh _ … Let me guess, something in the water supply?”

“We think so. I had Roy take some up to the lab in the Watchtower. He wants to meet up with us to give the results so we can make a game plan.”

“What is it with these people and the water su-- Wait,” Shafeeq’s eyes grow about as wide as twin moons, and he’s pretty sure his heart just skipped a beat. “ _ Us _ ?”

“Yup.  _ Us _ .” 

Shafeeq blinks a few times, every word he’s ever known in any language dying almost instantly as his brain reboots. He eventually manages a somewhat tight, “ _ Really _ ?”

“Yup. I mean, even if he didn’t say that, I’d be taking you anyways. You have a right to know a bit about this case, considering it affected you. Besides… the more you know about what’s going on, the less likely the chance for a repeat of what happened last time.”

Shafeeq knows, has known for  _ months _ , that Dick trusts him. He’s told him his secret identity, told him about his family and friends and teammates, allowed him to patch him time and time again without an ounce of hesitation. Shafeeq’s seen him at some of his lower moments, he’s  _ allowed _ Shafeeq to see these moments. Dick  _ trusts _ Shafeeq, and Shafeeq trusts Dick.

Still, Dick-- Dick  _ and _ Roy, who he’s technically only officially met  _ once _ \-- actually  _ keeping him in the loop _ about what’s going on… It feels like Shafeeq’s just unlocked another level of that trust. From what he’s heard about his family, not even their usual  _ doctor _ gets kept in the loop about missions until absolutely necessary. It’s… It’s pretty great, if Shafeeq’s honest.

“Hey,” Dick snaps his fingers in front of Shafeeq’s face, pulling him from his thoughts. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah-- Yeah I’m good. Let me go throw some actual clothes on and we can go,” Shafeeq starts to move towards his room, pausing at the entrance to the short hall leading there to add, “I’m driving, by the way.”

“Whatever you say, nurse-man.”

Shafeeq rolls his eyes and leaves the room.

\---

“You sure this is the right place, Horace?” The nasally-sounding man asks, turning his head to glance at his partner sitting in the car with him. Horace’s arm is still in a sling, and both men are pretty sure the only reason Horace isn’t dead is because of what he knows. Or at least, what he’s  _ promised _ he knows.

“Positive, Frankie. I’ve heard a lot of people saying they’ve seen a car matching the description and license plate number coming in and out of the parking garage,” Horace shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “Plus, records for the car match the name of someone who lives here.”

“So why haven’t we  _ done _ anything yet?”

“Rumor has it that the guy’s had somebody hanging out with him for the past few days and that they even saw a Justice Leaguer come in and go out. We wanna get him alone, in case it turns out the bats have sent some bodyguards to protect him. We don’t wanna get our asses kicked again,” Horace sniffs, then adds, “‘Sides, the boss wants to  _ make sure _ it’s the right guy before trying anything.”

Frankie huffs in his seat, but as he stares out the windshield to the garage again, his eyes grow wide. He frantically smacks Horace’s good arm, saying, “Horace,  _ look _ .”

Both men stare at the four-door car as it pulls out of the garage, exchanging a glance as it speeds off into the darkened streets. The plates match. The description matches. The driver looks familiar, even from that quick glance, even if the passenger doesn’t. 

Horace wonders if this is what it feels like to have something  _ good _ happen to you for once.

Frankie pulls out his burner phone, pressing a single button and holding it up to his ear. “Mr. Sionis? It’s Frankie and Horace. We got him.”

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on tumblr!
> 
> dc: gothamhell.tumblr.com  
> main: fandom-trash224.tumblr.com


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